


Sore Must Be the Storm

by shinigami714



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bullying, Class Differences, Disability, Drugs, Durincest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Financial Issues, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Character Death, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Orphans, Painkillers, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami714/pseuds/shinigami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was tired of hoping.  Tired of wishing.  So he really should just stop.  Give up and accept that he was unwanted.  And yet…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry! I haven't posted anything in such a long time. I have so many things I want to write and just haven't had the drive to work on anything! Also…I really need to write some of the prompts I've got sitting around. I guess that last story burnt me out a little bit. I've received some really great reviews in the past few weeks that have made me want to work on something…so here's a really short prologue for a story I'm trying to outline at the moment. We'll see where it goes I guess.

It was for the best he stop wishing really. Hoping was useless; he should just give it up. He knew enough by now to understand he was unwanted. He'd watched with wide eyes as couples walked through the orphanage, greeting each child and getting to know those that caught their eyes. He always smiled at them and shyly introduced himself as was expected. His head would lower and he would bite his lip tentatively, hoping just for a moment, that this time, _this time_ it would be him!

Then came the staring. Blatant, unabashed, open-eyed staring. Sometimes they would manage a quick hello, or a deceptively compassionate comment, and then they would pass by, on to the next child. They were grateful to leave him behind. There were those few quick seconds in which he knew they felt some sort of obligation towards him. And then once they moved on, he saw the relief in their forms. Their shoulders lowered, their muscles relaxed, and they heaved light sighs under their breath. After all, they were still doing something good, adopting a child. They need not feel bad for leaving one of many without a family. There were never glances back in his direction, never waves goodbye. They simply left him there, longing to be talked to, held, looked at, remembered… _anything_. He watched as others were picked, young and old, as he was left behind.

He was smart. Smarter than most of the other children in the orphanage, even at such a young age. He knew the expressions he saw on the faces of strangers. The way their features contorted slightly when they looked at him gave them away. The women and their scrunched up brows and feigned gasps, the men with their grimaces and stony eyes. He knew those looks.

_Pity._

They pitied him, felt sorry for him, and yet would never adopt him. He would never be their perfect child. He would never learn to play sports or games like other children. He would never skip, or dance, run, or walk. They didn't want that. They didn't want more problems in their already overcomplicated lives. They wanted the ideal family. A happy family, with a mother, father, two maybe even three children. A nice home, with a white picket fence, a cobblestone path, and a tire swing out the front. A dog, and a cat, perhaps even three fish in a bowl. There would be two comfy sofas and a warm, cozy fire they sat before each night. They would laugh together, and tell stories, then the mothers would kiss their children on their brows before tucking them in to bed while the fathers turned out the lights and whispered goodnight.

They most certainly did not want him. Defective, useless him. Even his own parents had not wanted a cripple, throwing him away like garbage into the care of men and women that could not say no under a watchful god's eye.

That's what he was. A cripple.

He'd heard the word whispered behind his back nearly every day since he came to recognize words. Sometimes it wasn't even whispered. Another child would sneer it at him with distaste, the syllables sliding over their tongue in a cruel tone that was meant to hurt. Sometimes they made it a game, chanting the word over and over until he would roll his cart away into a corner of the yard and pretend not to exist in the shadows of trees. Sometimes the other children would gather around his bed in the night and sing little songs.

_Kili the cripple, Kili the cripple!_

_He'll never walk, he'll never run,_

_His legs don't work, and he's loved by none!_

_Oh, Kili the cripple, Kili the cripple!_

They circled him, over and over, wild grins on their faces as they laughed and spat the words at him. And he would lie there, fearfully watching, unable to move away, unable to do anything other than hold his hands to his ears and squeeze his eyes shut tight as tears ran down his cheeks. Sometimes Father Maynor would catch the other children, and shoo them away, scolding them for using such a word. Then he would look at Kili with false kindness in his eyes and pretend it wasn't true.

But it was true. He was a cripple. Someone that couldn't walk, whose legs didn't work right. That's what a cripple was, right? And even the Father and Sisters of the orphanage had spoken the word, when they thought he wasn't near enough to hear. That's what they called him, _the cripple_. The poor little cripple. And whenever a couple would show even an ounce of interest in adopting him, rare as that may have been, one of the Sisters would whisper it into their ears as a warning, as though he might bring a plague along as well.

Kili's fingers dug into the dirt beside his cart and he pushed it a couple feet on the ground before giving up. It was tiring, and a sharp pain shot up his spine with the effort. He clenched his fingers tightly around the straps holding his legs down and gazed emotionlessly at the grounds. It wasn't fair. Why was he born like this when everyone else could run and play? He wished not for the first time that he'd never been born at all. What use was there in the world for someone like him? He couldn't do anything on his own. He couldn't get inside and out without help. He could barely move his cart a few feet at a time before the pain got to him. Even going to the bathroom was embarrassing. He was a waste of space.

He was tired of hoping. Tired of wishing. So he really should just stop. Give up and accept that he was unwanted. And yet…as his eyes locked onto the honey brown ones of a young man, a man with the kindest smile he'd ever seen. A man that seemed to look right past his disability, and into his very soul, he couldn't help but hope, just a little bit more.

[ ](http://shinigami714.tumblr.com/post/77873261009/kili-as-i-imagine-him-at-the-beginning-of-sore)


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo discovers something unexpected!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again it's been ages since my last post. But golly I want to get back into writing! And well…Desolation of Smaug helped light the fire I guess. I've been having issues with my email lately too. It was blocking all messages from ffnet and A03 so I thought people had stopped reading my stories entirely for a while. Thanks for all of the kind comments and favourites! I really, truly appreciate it! This may suffer from slight lack of proofreading, I apologize!

Bilbo Baggins was a decent sort of man. He enjoyed the simple things in life, like the feeling of the sun on his face after a long restful nap, and the smell of the air after a summer rain. He enjoyed a good meal, and a comfy home. He lived humbly, had a simple delivery job at a bakery not far away, and managed to make ends meet. It wasn't that he did not work hard, for he did when necessary, and it wasn't that he lacked ambition, but truthfully he did not wish for more. He was happy living without riches or fame and with his lot in life…for the most part. After all, there were _some_ downfalls to a modest life.

Bilbo had never known his father, though he'd heard stories of him often in his early years. Bungo Baggins had worked tirelessly as a tailor in one of the drearier parts of Erebor for many years. The hard work and stress of life in the slums had not aided in prolonging his life, and he passed not long after Bilbo's birth. His mother, Belladonna, raised him alone, with a caring hand, and a brilliant smile constantly plastered across her face. She was Bilbo's greatest role model, and always encouraged him to do anything he set his heart to. She spoke fondly of the past and made sure to tell Bilbo story after adventurous story whether it be fact or fiction.

But Bilbo's time with her had been cut short as well when she'd been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, Mesothelioma. It was a bitter memory. She could have been saved, Bilbo knew, if they had been wealthy. The cancer had been discovered early enough, though his mother had tried her best to hide it from him for several years. Eventually she'd been left to suffer as her body withered away. It was one of the downfalls of living in Erebor. The rich got richer and the poor, poorer. Healthcare cost an arm and a leg, and without money the large corporations wouldn't bat an eye in your direction.

Leaving was impossible. Erebor was an isolated place, and the only way out was by spending a fortune on a ticket. And besides, there was no guarantee that other cities would be less troublesome. He knew better than that. Large corporations ruled the world now. Besides, Bilbo had a home in Erebor, small as it was, and the people in his neighbourhood stood by one another, despite having fallen on difficult times. He could not abandon his life, nor did he wish to, and Belladonna had felt the same.

It was a shame the way Erebor had begun to disintegrate. He knew once upon a time things had been different. The people had lived simple lives and were satisfied with them, sharing equally in the wealth brought in from merchants and tourists, long before the borders were so heavily guarded. And every single person worked to sustain life within the city. Belladonna had grown up during such a time, and she spoke fondly of it frequently. But then with developing technology, the smaller businesses grew in size, and yet required less people to maintain them. Work was difficult to find. Money became a necessity and yet nearly impossible to come by except for a select few. The corporations began to reach outwards, beyond the city limits, ignoring those struggling within.

Now Erebor was divided. The city core a messy slum of broken down homes, collapsing businesses and forgotten roads. It was dirty and desolate, lacked proper policing. The wealthy avoided it, growing weary at the sight of such an eyesore while the people grew sick, and had little choice but to work their bodies to death or find an underground doctor willing to help.

It might not have been so bad if healthcare was easy to come by. But unfortunately, treatment and doctors within the city were employed almost exclusively by Durin Corp, one of the leading corporations within Erebor. It was impossible to get a license without training through them now, and it was impossible to operate a clinic without Durin Corp monitoring every movement within. Machinery was built exclusively by them, sold by them…medicines were manufactured and distributed by them.

Just the thought of Durin Corp brought a frown to Bilbo's normally relaxed brow. For twenty years his mother had worked tirelessly in a small clinic that fought to keep its licenses. She had always wanted to help others, and as a nurse she could. But Durin Corp had created restrictions, and limitations. Had started asking for service taxes to provide supplies, and added all of the personnel within the clinics to their payroll. They opened their own, newer, clinics, in high end locations of the city, and set their own prices. It had bothered Belladonna, turning away people that could not pay the price, but still she did her job, despite the guilt and stress it caused her. She was a wonderful nurse. And then, when illness had taken her, she was cast away, unable to afford the pricey procedures and medications on her measly salary. When she was no longer able to work, they let her go; a small benefit package tossed in her wake, but not nearly enough money to cover her medical expenses. It was one of many similar stories.

And in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Bilbo was left with nearly nothing. His mother passed, and he was thrust head on into life as an orphan, unable to go to college and pay off debts at the same time. Thankfully he'd found a job at Bombur's Bakery, and he'd worked there ever since. Bombur was a kindly fellow, with a lively wife and several children that he struggled to keep fed in the midst of it all. He'd taken Bilbo in for a time, allowed him to live above the quaint store until he managed to get back on his feet. The bakery did fairly well, surviving on its reputation for fantastic treats and unique flavours. Even the wealthy would occasionally dredge their way into the slums for a taste of Bombur's baking. Bilbo couldn't have been more grateful for the other man's kindness.

Yes, Bilbo was happy. He had friends at the bakery and in his neighborhood, and he knew many of the people he delivered to on a regular basis. He liked meeting new people as well, as long as they weren't unexpected guests. He even liked his tiny but comfortable home. But despite all of this he was missing one thing. A _family_. It was something Bilbo had craved all his life. He'd never had a real family, his time with his mother was far too brief and filled with loss to be considered normal. With each passing day he knew it was less likely he would ever have one. And though Bombur's oversized one often felt like a family to him, it was not quite the same, even if the other man might have argued otherwise.

Bilbo peddled furiously through one of the bumpier streets of Redwater district, his bicycle swaying back and forth. He was late for his delivery, and having a great deal of difficulty finding the correct street. Dirt spewed from under his tires, and splattered up against his ankles, and the dry wind left his eyes burning as he squinted at passing streets. It was horribly hot outside, and the sun blared down on his cotton covered back while drops of sweat slid down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt.

"Elmwood, no…that's not it," Bilbo mumbled as he zoomed by a street, reaching out a hand to steady the box of doughnuts in the basket attached to the handlebars. His eyes flicked all around, scanning the grungy street signs and his brown curly hair whipped around wildly in the wind.

"Oscar, definitely not," Bilbo muttered as he reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He squinted at the next sign, bending his neck slightly and tilting his head to the left.

"St. Anne? Wha-," Bilbo began, but he stopped as he realized he recognized the name. He'd ridden past the same place almost ten minutes prior.

"Oh for heaven's sake, I'm going in circles!" Bilbo shouted, and he began to peddle even more aggressively.

"Where in the bloody, urk!" he choked on his words as his front tire slid into a dip in the road and he lost his grip on the handlebars. Bilbo gasped loudly, his eyes widening in fright as the bike lurched and his short body flew off it in a rush.

"Aaaaargh!" Bilbo screamed, and his arms and legs flailed comically for a moment in air before he landed with a grunt on an overgrown lawn. His bike skidded in the dirt and clanged angrily against the curb, its precious cargo landing several feet away with a solid 'thwunk'. Bilbo clenched his eyes shut and groaned as he rolled onto his back, catching his breath and mentally checking his body for damage. Everything seemed in order, other than his increased heart rate and a few scrapes and bruises. There was also a throbbing pain in the back of his head that he might need to look into at some point. He managed to lift himself into a sitting position as he blinked and sniffled a bit, catching his breath, then he looked to the right where his bike lay in shambles on the ground. The handlebars were bent at an odd angle, and the chain lay half on and half off the peddle mechanism. Not long after, Bilbo's eyes strayed to the dented box that sat just a bit farther away and he groaned audibly.

"Oh drat!" Bilbo shouted, before he struggled to stand and wipe the dirt from his loose shorts, his head pounding along with his heart. He trudged roughly towards the box, and wiped a few stray blades of grass off the top before opening it carefully.

"Oh…small mercies," Bilbo gasped. Everything was in one piece, except of course his bike which lay in shambles beside him. Bilbo heaved out a semi relieved breath of air and reached into his back pocket to pull out his phone. He fiddled with it for a few moments, pressing random buttons, and then threw it roughly to the ground when he was met with nothing but a red battery symbol. Bilbo grumbled and groaned for several minutes, then stood up again and kicked at the grass, pondering what to do, when a dark shadow passed over his form. He turned warily, and looked up into the eyes of a very old and very tall man. The figure smiled gently at him, his eyes crinkling slightly at the sides, and Bilbo watched him carefully.

"May I be of help?" the man asked, his voice scratchy and just as friendly as his smile, and Bilbo clapped his hands together as he bent to retrieve his phone.

"Oh, well, yes, as a matter of fact…," Bilbo began as he lifted the remains of his bike from the ground and knocked his foot at the kickstand. It snapped out at an awkward bent angle, but still managed to keep his bike semi upright.

"I seem to have taken a wrong turn, delivery you see," Bilbo spoke, gesturing quickly at the pink doughnut box nestled atop the dried grass. The old man's eyes followed his hand movements and he reached up to run a hand across a long greying beard.

"And I can't get this bloody phone to work. Old, useless, piece of electronic crap. The simple way is better I say," Bilbo rambled on, though he stopped at a chuckle from his unexpected companion. Bilbo coughed gently and shoved his hands in his pockets, bouncing agitatedly on the tips of his feet.

"Could you by any chance tell me how to get to Greenwood Ave. from here?" he asked, and the old man smiled kindly again.

"Why of course!" He said, his aged eyes watching the shorter man with amusement. Bilbo glanced to the side briefly, waiting for the other to elaborate, but when no response came he frowned.

"Oh, great….how?" Bilbo probed, again met with a cheery grin. The old man seemed to study him intently for a moment before pulling a pipe from his pocket and gesturing down the street.

"Just take the next right," he spoke and Bilbo turned around and glanced down the dirty neighbourhood with doubt.

"No…no, I've taken that right before…and it certainly doesn't lead to Greenwood Ave.," Bilbo insisted, turning back to eye the old man quizzically. The tall man simply chuckled again before nodding patiently.

"Trust me good sir, I know these parts quite well. Just go that way, as I say, and then follow the sidewalk for a block or so. I'm sure you'll find the place you seek on your left," he drawled, and Bilbo raised a brow, and moved to pick up his box of baked goods.

"Right…well then, thank you so much! Excuse me, I'm horribly late!" Bilbo gushed out, and he just managed to catch the old man tipping his hat as he turned to move down the street. Bilbo had barely taken three steps when he realised he had no way to get home, now that his bike was in ruins, and he turned back around to ask one more question.

"Oh did you by any chance…" Bilbo started, but he stopped with a flush when he realised he was talking to nothing but air, his finger hovering and pointing at nothing. The man was nowhere in sight.

"Curious," Bilbo whispered under his breath. He studied the street suspiciously, and then figured it didn't hurt to at least try what the other man had suggested. After all, what was one more circle around the neighbourhood? His feet carried him down the next right, while he pushed his bike along beside him, and he walked for a while until coming to a dead end. Bilbo glanced around in confusion. There wasn't even a street to his left, nothing but a dumpster and a tiny walking path.

"Was that man off his rocker? There's not a Greenwood in sight!" Bilbo shouted in dismay, and he strolled around the back of the dumpster as though looking for some hidden secret. He kicked at an aluminum can and screeched loudly when a cat flew from the confines of the dumpster and down the tiny path.

"Duped by an old fogey!" Bilbo hissed, clutching his heart as he peered down the pathway in fear.

"It was just a cat Bilbo, you darn coward," he whispered, but then he paused at the sound of something else. Bilbo's eyes narrowed and he stepped slowly into the shadowed alley, his sandals scraping against the bumpy concrete. Bilbo kicked at the stand of his bike and it fell with a clang to the ground, so he settled for resting it against the dumpster instead, before trudging carefully down the pathway. It wasn't too long, and the sun snuck in from behind gaps in overhanging trees, the sounds from beyond growing clearer with each step. Bilbo took his paces more quickly and eventually he reached the end of the pathway. It opened into a tiny side street that Bilbo had never seen in his life before, and beyond he could hear the unmistakable sounds of children playing and laughing. Bilbo grinned and stepped out on the road, his eyes widening at the large green sign across the way before him. It was chipped and flakes of paint were scattered across the road beneath it, but the letters were still quite clear.

 _Father Maynor's Home for Lost Children_.

The smile fell from Bilbo's face and he glanced sadly at the paper sign plastered haphazardly beneath it.

_Sorry no drop-offs, full capacity!_

"Why that's horrible!" Bilbo gasped, and he raised a hand to his chest as he walked closer to the metal fence surrounding the property. He could see children scampering about and playing together beyond, dressed in no more than rags. The toys on the ground were broken and clearly worn beyond repair, and yet the children seemed to enjoy them more than enough. He could see their silly gapped smiles, and bright curious eyes. They were playing and yet, seemed drawn somehow, so young to be alone. Too young to go without a family. It tugged painfully at Bilbo's heart and he was reminded of his past in an instant. Bilbo blinked his stinging eyes furiously then reached forward to hook his fingers around the bars of the fence. His eyes scanned the playground glancing across each face until his gaze settled on a far corner of the yard, where a single child sat in the shade of some trees. He was atop an old red cart with rusting wheels, and his clothing was just as ragged as the rest of the children in the yard. His body was slouched forwards, his head bent down slightly, and Bilbo thought he looked so incredibly alone. He shuddered, and his fingers tightened further around the steel bars.

Lost children indeed.

Bilbo was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the gate beside him opening, or the woman that stepped up beside him. Her soft-spoken voice startled him and he jerked his hands from the bars in fright.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked kindly, and Bilbo relaxed as he realised it was just a nun. He swallowed heavily and glanced back into the yard, his gaze once more drawn to the solitary boy in the corner. A child deserved a home, a family. A child deserved to be loved, cared for, held and even tucked in at night. A child deserved more than to grow up within the barred walls of an orphanage, never having experienced the love of a family or the comfort of a real home. Bilbo was not a wealthy man. His home was nothing to speak of. His job barely managed to pay for his own board and keep. But…he did have a home, and surely he could manage to budget enough to care for one more. A child in desperate need.

"Yes, yes I do believe you can," Bilbo whispered softly, and he turned his face towards her with more conviction than he'd ever felt before.

"I think I'd like to adopt a child."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Is there still interest in this?


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! And Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate! I struggled with this chapter, mostly because I kept getting distracted.

In retrospect, it was probably not a good idea to ask to adopt a child after riding a bicycle for three hours on a hot summer's day. And it was definitely not a good idea after crashing said bicycle on a dirt road, when one looked as though they'd rolled around with pigs for a few moments of fun. Bilbo really should not have been surprised when the nun looked him up and down with a judgemental eye, as though he were some sort of drunken criminal. But all the same he bristled slightly and straightened his back, as though increasing his meagre height would make him seem more refined. She raised her eyebrow and tilted her habit slightly to the side in question, and Bilbo stuttered when her gaze landed on his slightly torn shorts.

"O-oh…t-this? It's nothing, had a bit of a struggle with my bicycle this morning, you see," Bilbo explained, gesturing to his side. The nun's eyes looked briefly in the direction suggested but found nothing of any value, and Bilbo quickly remembered he'd left his bicycle propped up against the dumpster. His hands dropped slightly and he smiled at the unamused woman timidly.

"Right…well, I can ensure you I'm not homeless! I work at Bombur's Bakery, over in Brandywine District, got lost on a delivery, had a little run in with a dip in the road," Bilbo elaborated, and the nun's eyes widened in surprise and her posture relaxed ever so slightly. Her suspicions were fairly commonplace these days. It was hard to know who to trust, and who was simply interested in their own gain or planning some kind of elaborate theft.

"Oh, you're employed then?" She asked, slightly more intrigued at the idea of a prospective adopter. Her sudden eagerness made Bilbo cringe slightly and he fiddled with his shirt for a moment. He swiftly became worried. What if his little job at the bakery was not reliable enough and the orphanage thought him a bad candidate for adoption? He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. Surely any home was better than no home for a child in need.

"Yes…yes, I am," Bilbo responded, and he reached within his shirt pocket and pulled out a pink and white card, before handing it to the nun. She raised it up slightly and frowned as her eyes took in the cursive writing and smiling cupcake upon it. She glanced back towards him quickly and Bilbo cleared his throat. She was quite tall, and rather intimidating, and he felt very small standing next to her dark clothed form.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he spoke clearly, taking a slight bow before her. She said nothing, and continued to look at the card, flipping it around to read the address embossed on the back. Bilbo figured she was picturing his neighbourhood. The street the bakery was on housed a few little shops still managing to stay afloat, along with several that had not lasted in the recent years. There were many storefronts with boarded up windows, and graffiti strewn about them. It was commonplace for a door to lay off its hinges, and many of the empty buildings were filled with men and women looking for a place to stay warm in the night. It was inadvisable to venture down the alleyways between shops; Bilbo knew criminals of all sorts could be found there. At the same time, there was a strong community in the area. The houses were close together, smaller and more affordable than some, with one or two bedrooms at most. The yards barely existed, and nothing but a tiny fence divided you from your neighbours. It made for close relationships, and unavoidable friendships. The little streets felt homey and relatively safe, with their networks of support. Brandywine wasn't one of the nicest Districts in Erebor, not by a longshot, but it was far from the worst. There were places deep in the slums Bilbo wouldn't dare ride his bicycle through, out of fear not only for his belongings, but for his life as well.

"Well…come in, and let's see if we can fix you up," the nun finally spoke, handing the card back to Bilbo with grace, and the young man visibly relaxed, heaving a small sigh of relief, before following her through the gate. The two walked down a small barely discernible pathway, and Bilbo could feel the eyes of children tracing his every move. He did his best not to stare, but he couldn't help glancing to the sides and into the wide and intense gawking faces of the children in the yard.

There seemed a strange stillness about the place in that moment, and then there was a sudden shift, as though a light had been switched on. The children smiled all at once, eyes lighting up with an excited gleam, and Bilbo found himself nearly swarmed by children. They reached forward to grab at his legs and the edges of his shirt, tugging playfully at his garments as he struggled to keep balance. The nun shooed them away, and continued leading him towards the building, and Bilbo struggled to keep the pained grimace from his face at their forsaken expressions. It was nearly suffocating and he felt his chest constrict painfully. He had not noticed he was holding his breath until the heavy orphanage door closed behind him, leaving a solid wall between him and the many hands that had reached out towards his clothes. He gasped slightly, and breathed in deep, blinking his eyes several times to clear his vision.

"Are you alright, Mr. Baggins?" The nun questioned, looking over her shoulder at him briefly before continuing to walk down a narrow hallway. Bilbo followed quickly along behind her, their footsteps echoing loudly down the corridor.

"Yes, yes. It's just, there are so many," Bilbo stammered, and he frowned as he recalled the desperate faces of all of the children. He wished briefly that he could adopt each and every child inside the orphanage gates, but that was an impossible notion. He barely managed to keep his own life afloat, and admittedly even one child was going to be a challenge for him financially. He was faced with the realisation that he must pick one. Just _one_. But how could he possibly choose? How did one determine which boy or girl was more deserving of a home? And could he possibly bear the sight of so many empty faces as he left all but one behind? The nun smiled kindly in his direction as though she understood exactly what tormented him.

"I know it seems daunting at first, trying to find a single child you think is right for you. But you will have time to walk around and mingle with the children properly. There's almost always a connection, and I'm sure you will find the one most suited to you," she encouraged, though her words did little to settle his rampant thoughts.

He soon found himself seated in front of an aged looking desk, strewn with papers and books, as the scrapes on his hands and knees were tended to. An older man sat opposite him, looking worn beyond his years. He had introduced himself as Father Maynor, and the two men conversed lightly about Bilbo's work and neighbourhood while the nun smudged ointment into some of the deeper cuts on his palms and knees.

"Thank you Sister Mary Margaret," the Father spoke kindly and the nun excused herself from the room, shutting the door gently behind her. Bilbo watched the man across from him sort the papers into somewhat neater stacks before he pulled a form from the top of one of them and began filling it out.

"Now, I imagine you are here because you wish to adopt?" Father Maynor asked, glancing up over his glasses at Bilbo every so often as his pen made loud scratching noises atop the rough wood of the desk.

"Yes," Bilbo spoke earnestly and he began fiddling with his fingers in his lap. His eyes travelled around the room nervously, and he began to really think about the enormity of the decision he was about to make.

"I imagine it's a long process," Bilbo inferred, and he was shocked when the Father sent a lopsided grin in his direction and chuckled lightly at the comment.

"No, actually, quite the opposite," the older man admitted and Bilbo's eyes widened slightly at the news. The older man set down his pen and sat back in his chair before his expression morphed into one of grief.

"Once upon a time the process would have taken much longer, and those approved for adoption would have been much slimmer," he began, looking off into the corner as he spoke.

"Now though, there are far too many boys and girls without homes. I'm sure you noticed the condition our little orphanage is in as you walked through the yard. Donations are slim, and the little funding we receive from Durin Corp is no longer enough to fully support our overcrowded halls. The children here are suffering for it, wearing rags and eating little. In these times we cannot afford to waste time, nor can we afford to be picky," he explained and Bilbo was saddened at the state of things. Children were always the ones that suffered the most.

"The simple fact of the matter is, these children need homes, and any home is better than no home, for the most part," the Father continued, and Bilbo nodded along with him, enraptured by his sage-like voice.

"New children find their way into this place nearly every day. There are three to four new mouths to feed each week, minimum," the older man droned, and Bilbo frowned and raised his eyes to meet the other man's.

"I thought you were at full capacity," he spoke quickly, thinking of the worn sign just outside the front gate. The father sighed slightly and moved his gaze to the corner of the room.

"Despite what the sign out front may say, we do not turn children away. The truth is, we've been well over full capacity for more than a year. We cannot afford to take care of them all, but what choice do we have?" He asked no one in particular but Bilbo hummed in agreement nonetheless. The two sat in silence for a few moments until the Father looked inquiringly at Bilbo, and seemed to study him intently.

"You are single, I highly doubt that your job at that bakery provides a sufficient income, and quite honestly, your appearance does not make for a great first impression," Father Maynor commented in a direct manner, and Bilbo tried his hardest to keep his face from crumpling in an aggravated way. His eyebrow twitched slightly with the effort, and his nostrils flared ever so slightly.

"But, we need the space. One less child in a bed here, means one less on the street out there, and I have a good feeling about you Mr. Baggins," the older man admitted as he tapped his fingers a few times on the desk. Bilbo sat up straighter in his chair and the tension in his face relaxed a bit, his mouth opening ever so slightly in surprise.

"So I will approve you for adoption if you can answer me one question, honestly," the Father continued, and Bilbo tilted his head to the side and licked his lower lip nervously. The priest's gaze was penetrating and Bilbo mentally prepared himself for the question to come.

"Why do you wish to adopt a child today?" he finally asked, and the question hung in the air for several moments before Bilbo could manage to form a proper answer of any kind.

"Honestly…honestly I had no intention of adopting a child before today," Bilbo admitted, shrugging his shoulders slightly and he ran a hand through his curly hair before slouching slightly in his chair.

"In fact, the idea had never occurred to me before," he spoke quietly with a bit of an exasperated chuckle and his sandals scuffed across the aged hardwood beneath his feet.

"Had I not crashed my bicycle, I may never have walked down that little pathway," Bilbo muttered, and he frowned as his mind fully registered the events that led up to him sitting in his current place. He was never one to take risks, per say. Heck, he even had trouble walking out his front door on certain days. It was his mother that had the adventurous spirit of the family, his mother that encouraged him to try new things, to meet new people. Without her…he had little incentive to do much at all, and at the same time, all the more reason to.

"I've always wanted a family, I was orphaned fairly young myself, you see," Bilbo tried to convey his feelings as well as possible, though he figured he sounded more confused than anything else, and his reasoning was very difficult to explain.

"It just feels right, like I was meant to fall upon this place today. If I can make even one of those lost children out there happy, then that's an accomplishment," Bilbo asserted.

"They deserve happiness, they deserve loving families. I may not be wealthy, and I may not be ideal, but I can provide that much," he insisted, his eyes nearly pleading with the other man to believe him, and find his vague answer acceptable.

"I do not think my falling upon this place today was a mere accident," Bilbo finished, and he sat back in his seat and nervously looked into his lap. The room felt oddly quiet with his silence, and Bilbo could faintly hear the sounds of the children playing in the yard through the tall windows on one of the walls. There was a tree just outside, and the light shone past it into the room, creating flickering shadows on the floor and casting a golden hue across the wooden desk. Bilbo was not sure how long he sat there pondering his words when Father Maynor's deep tenor filled the room.

"I believe you will be a good parent, Mr. Baggins," he acknowledged, and Bilbo looked up into his eyes with surprise cast across his features. The older man was smiling kindly at him with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"Would you like to meet the children?" he asked gently, and Bilbo's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Yes!"

* * *

The next time Bilbo stepped out into the yard at Father Maynor's Home for Lost Children, it was a completely different experience. It was as though the boys and girls had transformed. They no longer clustered around him and reached out towards him, begging, pleading with him to look at them. Now they stood calmly, sweet little smiles painted upon their faces like they were on display. It was as though they all wore masks across their features, presenting themselves in a way they thought was desired, like no more than dolls in a toy shop's window. Bilbo swallowed uneasily as he walked steadily across the yard. Sister Mary Margaret followed leisurely along at a respectable distance, giving him space to mingle and interact with the children while keeping an eye on the rest of the grounds. There were a few other nuns walking about as well and Bilbo smiled respectfully at them as he passed them by.

Boys and girls waved at him shyly and smiled with wide eyes and nervous expressions as he moved around the exterior and watched them play. It was incredibly awkward, looking amongst the children, knowing in his heart he had to choose just one. He was picking at his fingernails nervously and he pulled his hands quickly apart when he realised, clasping them tightly together behind his back. Some of the children giggled behind him and Bilbo sniffled and tried to hold back the worried expression that wanted to encompass his face.

He said hello to a few of the kids, and even paused to ask several about the games they were playing, but no single child seemed to fit. On some level, he wanted to adopt every child he met, but he knew that was impossible. It was heart wrenching, watching the flickering desperation in their tiny eyes, despite how hard they were trying to hide it. He recalled the nun's words, that usually there was some kind of connection, that he would know which child he was meant to take home with him. But as his eyes roamed across dozens of pleading eyes he doubted such a thing was possible. There were just too many, and he couldn't possibly pick one when he knew he was letting so many down.

He heaved a heavy anguished sigh and wrapped his arms tightly about his chest, looking to every edge of the yard. His eyes faltered for a moment on the far corner and then widened as he caught sight of a worn red cart. His heart jolted in his chest and he recalled viewing it earlier through the barred fence surrounding the grounds. His arms fell loosely to his sides, and before he had thought on it, his feet began stepping towards the boy that sat alone in the shade. Bilbo could hear his heart thumping in his ears as he approached the tiny brunette and he vaguely noticed the other children falling away from him. A tension fell over the orphanage with each step he took. The nuns were whispering amongst each other in hushed voices, and he could feel Sister Mary Margaret's eyes boring into his back.

When Bilbo stood just a foot away from the boy his breath caught in his throat. Straps were holding the child's painfully thin legs to the cart, and he was clenching the fingers of one hand tightly into his thigh while his other hand dragged loosely in the dirt. The boy…couldn't walk. Bilbo's eyes did not stray for a moment as he studied the little figure. The way he was slouched in such defeat, the way his shoulders trembled faintly and how his fingers scratched at the ground anxiously. His hair was matted slightly, and hung over his shoulders in a scraggly mess, and his clothes looked a couple sizes too big for his body. Everything about the boy screamed of sorrow.

Something told Bilbo _this_ child was the one.

He took one more step, his feet scuffing on the ground and drawing the boy's attention to him. Bilbo watched as the child turned his head towards him slowly, lifting the deepest and saddest brown eyes to meet his gaze. The boy's expression was guarded, a feigned indifference written across his features, but Bilbo knew better. He could see the masked pain within the little one's glazed eyes, as well as a hint of desperation.

Bilbo mustered the gentlest smile he could manage, and he bent down before placing the palms of his hands against his knees. The boy followed his movements curiously, with a faint twitch of his eyebrows, as though he was surprised by the action.

"Hi there! My name's Bilbo, what's yours?" Bilbo spoke sweetly, keeping his voice soft and steady. The boy stared at him for a few moments, opening his mouth slightly while his face crumpled a bit in confusion. Finally the child looked away from him before biting his lip and speaking quietly.

"…Kili," he whispered tentatively, his fingers clenching in his worn shorts even tighter than before. The action tugged at Bilbo's heart and he tilted his head slightly, observing the boy's form more thoroughly. He was quite young, four, maybe five, and yet his expression seemed almost weary like that of a grown man. Bilbo wondered how often a child like the one in front of him was able to simply play, to relax and have fun, like children were meant to. Another glance down at the withered legs held in place by thick leather straps and tarnishing buckles provided the answer he needed. More than likely rarely, if ever at all. Bilbo frowned and resolved to change that. No child should be forced to sit alone, unable to play like others with a carefree smile, no matter what difficulties they faced in life.

"Kíli…what a unique name!" Bilbo spoke excitedly, and he noticed the boy looking at him from under dark eyelashes, though his face remained tilted shyly towards the ground. There was an innate curiosity hidden in those dark irises, one undoubtedly blocked by many obstacles. Bilbo wanted to see the boy's face alight with happiness, shining the way it was clearly meant to.

"Would you like to go for a walk with me?" Bilbo asked, and he grinned as Kíli's head whipped up towards him in a flash, his eyes wide with surprise. There was a definite disbelief in the gaze; however Bilbo was certain he saw hope, and a tiny sparkle of excitement.

"…I can't," Kíli mumbled incredulously, but his eyes remained locked on Bilbo's golden ones. Bilbo simply chuckled and slapped his hands against his knees in surprise.

"You can't? Says who?" Bilbo gasped in an over exaggerated manner. He watched as confusion filled Kíli's expression while the little one struggled to find an answer.

"No one…I j-just can't," Kíli stuttered, moisture shining in his eyes. Bilbo couldn't stand to see such defeat in the child's face. The boy needed encouragement, support. He needed to know he was special, important just like any other child.

"I'm going to tell you a secret Kíli," Bilbo began, meeting Kíli's gaze head on.

"No matter what anyone says, you can do anything you set your mind to. If you're hardworking, and determined, there is nothing you cannot do," Bilbo insisted, and he tapped Kíli lightly on the nose. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, before quickly falling away again. When Kíli's eyes opened again, they were forlorn, and the boy tilted his head down towards his legs with a frown.

"But…," he whispered in doubt, both his hands gripping the straps clasped about his legs in anguish. Bilbo wouldn't allow it. He never wanted to see such an upset expression on the boy's face again, especially not after witnessing the beginnings of a real smile. Bilbo reached out, placing gentle fingers beneath Kíli's tiny chin, tilting his head up again.

"Kili, even if you are unable to physically walk, your mind is capable of anything. It is the mind that makes us truly strong. And you my little one, have a beautiful mind. Understand?" Bilbo questioned and Kíli looked at him with awe before nodding. The child lowered his gaze again, though kept his chin up as he nibbled at his lower lip uncertainly.

"Now then, let's go for a walk," Bilbo stated as though it were just an everyday occurrence, and he reached forward and began unlatching the clasps tied along one of Kíli's legs. He could feel Sister Mary Margaret's presence nearby, and knew the nun was watching him like a hawk, ready to swoop in and stop him at any moment.

"Can you help me with these?" Bilbo asked kindly, and he grinned when Kíli eagerly began unlatching the clasps on his other leg. His hands moved much quicker than Bilbo's, as though he was used to the act, and soon enough his legs were free, and Kíli sat leaning back on unsteady arms.

"Raise your arms, and hold on tight," Bilbo said, reaching forward and hooking his arms beneath Kíli's significantly smaller ones. He lifted him slowly, and braced the child against his side. Kíli was quite lightweight, and he fit in Bilbo's arms with ease after a little bit of creative manoeuvring. His legs hung limply beneath him, while his upper body remained tense but not resistant. Bilbo gripped him tightly, though the flinch of pain that crossed Kíli's face at every movement did not go unnoticed.

"Am I hurting you?" Bilbo asked worriedly, and he frowned as Kíli tucked his face against the collar of his shirt.

"..N-no," Kíli murmured, his voice nearly lost in the other man's clothing, while his tiny fingers clenched tightly in the fabric they held fast to.

"You don't need to lie to me," Bilbo voiced with concern.

"'M not, it doesn't hurt! Please don't put me back down!" Kíli nearly shouted this time, and Bilbo pulled away to look at him in shock. The boy's face was red and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, clinging to his eyelashes in large droplets. Bilbo's eyes widened and he brushed stray hairs away from Kíli's face before rubbing away some of the tears. He wondered how often Kíli was held. With the number of children living at the orphanage it was likely few of them were held for longer than a moment each day, if that. And Kíli was probably held less than any of the others.

"Even if it hurts I'm not going to put you down, okay? But you have to be honest," Bilbo reassured him, tugging him a little closer and tucking dark hair behind his ears.

"Does it hurt?" Bilbo asked again, looking into the boy's shining eyes, with a sincere expression. Kíli sniffled a couple times and grimaced slightly before nodding.

"A little," he admitted softly, his eyebrows clenching together.

"Okay, I'll just be gentle," Bilbo promised, and Kíli's expression lightened immediately, his eyes observing the gentle man with wonder. As Bilbo began his trek around the yard Sister Mary Margaret approached him with a severe look upon her face. She held out a hand as if to stop his movement and Bilbo paused while Kíli tensed up in his arms.

"Mr. Baggins, I do not think…," the nun began hesitantly. She pressed a hand against one of Kíli's arms and he leant away from the touch and into Bilbo's chest.

"We'll be just a moment, Kíli's taking me on a tour of the yard!" Bilbo spoke quickly, twisting around her form as he looked once more into Kíli's eyes.

"Right?" he asked, and he smiled pleasantly when Kíli nodded at him with excitement. Bilbo walked briskly away, and down a small cobblestone path that was chipped in several places and overgrown with weeds. Kíli looked over his shoulder as they moved watching the nun frown in their direction, before he stuck his tongue out defiantly. Sister Mary Margaret glared at him, her expression promising a scolding in his future, but she fell back and allowed the two to continue wandering alone.

"You shouldn't do that, it's rude you know," Bilbo commented, and Kíli recoiled immediately, releasing a small gasp and looking at Bilbo in shock.

"'M Sorry," he mumbled, his gaze lowered sombrely, sure that he'd blown whatever chances he may have had. He was certain, in just a moment the kind man would place him back down, walk away, like all of the others, never to return.

"I'll forgive you this time, but no more sticking your tongue out at people okay? No matter how old and stiff they might be," Bilbo jibed, and Kíli couldn't believe his ears.

"You can think about sticking your tongue out all you want though," Bilbo suggested and tiny giggles filled his ears as Kíli snickered against him. The two of them walked for quite some time, Kíli pointing out the scenic locations in the yard eagerly while he told Bilbo a variety of stories. He was bright, very bright, and his imagination was not stilted, despite the harshness of his childhood. Kíli spoke of little gnomes that wandered the yard and tugged the dark flowing robes of the nuns for fun, and of colonies of ants whom plotted revenge against the children always stomping on their homes. He had names for every flower and tree, and of course they all had stories as well. Kíli possessed a certain inquisitiveness that his disability had yet to fully extinguish, and Bilbo silently vowed to nourish it best he could. Kíli's laugh was filled with a playful innocence and Bilbo laughed along with him, overjoyed to see happiness gleaming in the boy's dark eyes. Not to mention, Kíli's smile was absolutely breathtaking, encompassing his entire face.

"How old are you Kíli?" Bilbo asked, as they moved towards an oddly ornate, rusted bench nestled between two aged willow trees. The leaves shook and fell to the ground, crumbling beneath Bilbo's feet as he walked.

"Five! And a half too!" Kíli exclaimed, holding up the fingers of one hand excitedly.

"Wow! You're nearly all grown up!" Bilbo teased, sitting gently on the bench as he propped Kíli carefully atop his knees.

"N-no!" Kíli blushed, and he pressed his face into Bilbo's neck with embarrassment. It was incredibly endearing and Bilbo hugged him, already feeling as though he'd known the child for years.

"You sure are. I bet you already know what you want to be!" Bilbo laughed and Kíli's eyes positively lit up with excitement. His head flung up, all traces of his previous embarrassment gone as he smiled brilliantly, his tongue caught between his tiny teeth.

"I wanna be a musi…a musisssssan!" Kíli blurted.

"A musician? What instrument will you play?" Bilbo asked, truly intrigued. It was not often that a child had such a dream.

"The vie-oh-linn! Just like Bach!" Kíli explained, nodding vigorously as he spoke to further support his decision.

"You know Bach?" Bilbo eyed the boy with awe, thoroughly impressed by his knowledge.

"The father has some big black disks. He plays them all the time. No one likes them, but I do! It's beautiful! And Bach wrote it all, I think anyway," Kíli rambled a bit, clearly passionate about the subject.

"I want to write music! And play…and I could perform on stage!" He continued, bringing a smile to Bilbo's face. The man watched Kíli's eyes become distant, his thoughts lost for a moment, and then the light slowly faded from them and the excited expression fell from his face. Kíli shivered as a harsh breeze blew through the grounds, and he gripped the edges of his cotton shirt and wrapped thin arms about his chest.

"Except…I can't do that I s'pose," Kíli mumbled, glancing down at his unresponsive legs, voice heavy with anguish. Bilbo reached up to pull a few leaves from the boy's messy hair and moved forwards slightly to shield him from the wind.

"Hey now, have you already forgotten what I said?" Bilbo asked calmly, capturing Kíli's attention once more.

"You can do anything you set your mind to Kíli. Just because your legs aren't like everyone else's doesn't mean you can't be a great star. Lots of musicians play while sitting," Bilbo encouraged him, desperately hoping to see the carefree smile return to his young face.

"No one 'ould come see me," Kíli pouted dramatically.

"I would!" Bilbo nearly shouted, drawing the attention of several others in the yard and startling Kíli.

"Stage presence comes from the heart! Sometimes the smallest of people are the most captivating," Bilbo insisted. Kíli's eyes flickered across his sincere expression and ever so slowly his lips rose with a hint of a smile. The little brunette leaned against Bilbo happily and the two watched the clouds flutter across the sky. The sun was exceedingly warm upon their faces, and the sporadic breeze cool against their skin. The trees rustled around them and every so often Kíli pointed out a shape amongst the ever changing clouds. Bilbo felt strangely at peace, holding the little one in his lap, talking and laughing at the imaginary grotesque frogs and fluffy bunny rabbits above them. He hadn't felt quite so relaxed in a while, even with his simple and routine daily life. He felt truly happy, so happy in fact that he could not force the grin off of his face. He was watching Kíli's eyes droop sleepily, and when the boy opened his mouth in an extensive yawn he felt in his heart that everything was perfect.

"How would you like to come live with me Kíli?" Bilbo asked abruptly, and Kíli sat up, suddenly very awake. He looked unsure, as though he was trying to determine if Bilbo had spoken at all or whether the words he'd heard had been part of his imagination as well.

"What's wrong?" Bilbo asked gently, frantically hoping he hadn't rushed the child.

"…R-really?" Kíli stuttered, still staring at Bilbo with wide insecure eyes. It would not have been the first time he'd pretended someone wanted him only to realise later it had all been a dream.

"But…I'm…," Kíli uttered, his eyes straying to the sides nervously, certain the kindly man was mistaken.

"You're what? Incredibly smart? Full of dreams? In possession of a brilliantly wide smile?" Bilbo asked playfully and Kíli could not believe his ears. He swallowed nervously and felt his lower lip begin to tremble.

"I think you and I could learn a lot from each other. What do you think?" Bilbo asked him, and Kíli felt his eyes begin to sting. He couldn't believe it, someone actually wanted him! Kíli struggled to say something and when he finally opened his mouth to respond he was interrupted.

"Mr. Baggins, could I have a word with you for a moment, alone," Sister Mary Margaret spoke sternly from off to the side, and Bilbo glanced in her direction before nodding and shuffling Kíli off his lap. He made sure the boy was settled and stable, and pulled on his ear once before standing up straight.

"Will you wait here for me? Are you alright for a little bit?" Bilbo asked and Kíli looked away from him worriedly. His dark eyes glared in the nun's direction before he lowered his head with a crestfallen nod. He knew what was about to happen. It would be just like every other time. The nun would warn Mr. Baggins, tell him to take another child, one that was easier, less trouble. One that was… _normal_. It would be the last time he ever saw the kind man. For some reason this time hurt more than any other.

Kíli felt a finger touch his face and when he glanced ahead Bilbo knelt before him, looking up into his eyes, the same kind smile plastered across his features.

"Hey, it'll just take a minute okay? I'll be back in no time," Bilbo promised, and Kíli nodded again in understanding, though his posture remained forlorn. Still, as he watched the man walk away from him towards the nun, Kíli couldn't help but smile as Bilbo turned towards him and grinned widely. A hint of hope remained in his heart, and he sincerely wished that this time, he would actually travel beyond the barred fence of the orphanage, to a home, to a family. That this time, he would not be left alone. Kíli shivered as Bilbo's form disappeared from sight and he fell back against the bench with a heavy sigh, his legs resting lifelessly beside him.

* * *

As soon as Bilbo stepped around the corner of the orphanage Sister Mary Margaret turned towards him with a deep frown upon her face. Bilbo staggered slightly at the intense expression directed towards him and struggled to hold his ground.

"I must advise you against choosing that particular child," she immediately spoke, crossing her arms and leaving little room for argument.

"What? Why?" Bilbo questioned, copying her and folding his arms tightly together. She raised a thin brow in exasperation and looked around to make sure no children were close enough to overhear.

"Surely you've noticed he's a _cripple_ ," she hissed. The word startled Bilbo and he felt his left eye begin to twitch angrily.

"And?" Bilbo spoke, drawing the word out much longer than necessary. The nun seemed surprised by his disinterest and she pondered over her next words.

"It's just, are you sure? It's a lot of work caring for someone that's so physically flawed. And undertaking such a task as a sing-," the Sister started, stopping suddenly as Bilbo interjected her.

"He's not flawed," Bilbo insisted, tightening his arms to the point of bruising his own skin. The nun looked affronted for a moment, before growing confused. No one had ever needed so much convincing before.

"You do realise he can't walk at all right?" she confirmed and Bilbo laughed in disbelief.

"Do you think there is another child here more in need of a loving family?" the man asked watching the nun bristle and place her hands on her hips indignantly.

"All of our children are-," she started but she was quickly cut off again.

"All of them, including Kíli," Bilbo intoned, watching her closely. The nun opened and closed her mouth several times before huffing and lowering her arms to her sides.

"I'm adopting him; I've made my choice," Bilbo stated. Sister Mary Margaret looked around the grounds and watched the other children playing before turning back towards him.

"Mr. Baggins, you must know, it is very expensive caring for a child, especially one like Kíli. He needs lots of attention, help with everything, and I mean everything," she persisted and Bilbo grew suddenly insecure. She had a valid point. Kíli was certainly different than other children, there was no denying that. He would most likely need treatments of some kind, possibly medications. Could he honestly afford it? He considered it reasonably for a minute, but his mind just kept circling back. How many others had passed by Kíli because of his disability? How many times had Kíli been led to believe he was wanted, only to be left and forgotten in the end? How dare Bilbo give the child such hope only to let him down! It was out of the question, he absolutely could not back away from Kíli, especially after promising he would return. And there was no way Bilbo would allow the little boy to sit strapped atop that old rusted cart ever again.

"If he's so much trouble for you it shouldn't be a problem then? To get him off your hands," Bilbo snapped suddenly, the nun flinching before him, though she still looked ready to argue.

"Why are you being so adamant about this? You said I would know, that there would be a connection. That little boy needs me, I cannot let him down," Bilbo continued, refusing to back away. He recognized the instant Sister Mary Margaret gave in. She sighed and lowered her rigid shoulders, raising her hands before her in defence.

"I apologize. I have an obligation to make sure each child leaves in good hands. I just want you to be absolutely sure," she spoke calmly. Bilbo relaxed as well, though his reply remained resolute.

"I've never been so sure about anything before," he insisted in a steady voice.

"We'll have to ask him of course, make sure he wants to go with you," the nun continued and Bilbo offered her a grateful smile. He hurried back around the building, the nun following quickly behind, and paused just before the corroding bench. Kíli's eyes were closed and his head turned up towards the sky. Bilbo watched the shadows flicker across the boy's face and felt almost compelled to leave him be, to let him rest. But he knew Sister Mary Margaret stood impatiently at his back, and quite honestly, he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Wake up sleepyhead," Bilbo whispered, bending low to blow on Kíli's face while he tucked his hands in his pockets. Kíli's eyes opened quickly, and his mouth fell open like a gaping fish.

"Y-you came back!" he cried out. Kíli's hands gripped the slotted wood he sat atop and he shifted his body, his eyes travelling between Bilbo and the nun with wonder.

"Kíli, would you like to go home with Mr. Baggins today?" Sister Mary Margaret spoke, moving forward to approach the child and watch his answer. Kíli's eyes widened dramatically, and he continued glancing between the two adults as though making sure they were not figments of his imagination. He repeated the nun's words several times in his mind before finally looking towards Bilbo with disbelief.

"C-can I really?" Kíli stuttered hopefully, and the nun wilted at the sight of his brewing excitement. It was apparent that a real connection already existed between the two, she couldn't possibly argue against it.

"Of course," Bilbo laughed, and moved forwards to lift the brunette from the bench and Kíli reached upwards eagerly, his smile absolutely infectious. He was so happy the small tinges of pain in his spine went completely unnoticed and his tiny fingers tangled in Bilbo's curly locks as he was propped against the man's side.

In no time at all the two sat before Father Maynor while Bilbo signed the papers granting him custody rights for Kíli. The older man had the papers ready when they arrived and he pushed them across his desk with a pen and a knowing glance between the two opposite him. Bilbo's hand shook just a little as he signed the papers, but the feeling of Kíli's arms tugging at his clothes eased his mind. He knew he was making the right choice, he knew he would never regret his actions, not for a moment. Kíli's smile seemed permanent in those minutes spent in Father Maynor's office, and the priest grinned at them, offering the occasional wink in Kíli's direction. Bilbo signed the last page with a quick scratch atop the wooden desk and twenty minutes later Kíli's things were packed in a small satchel and the two waved goodbye to the orphanage and began trekking down the path towards the exit.

Kíli held fast to Bilbo's shoulders as the large barred gate creaked and they passed through it. His eyes glanced back towards the orphanage's yard in disbelief, eying the grounds he would not miss for a moment, his gaze briefly settling on the little red cart he was leaving behind. His fingers clenched and unclenched in Bilbo's shirt repeatedly and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from tearing up. All of his life he'd known that little cart, all of his life his legs had been strapped to it as though it were some kind of prison. And despite the fact that his legs hung effectively broken beneath him, and Bilbo was carrying him in his arms, for the first time ever, he felt free. For the first time ever, he felt like he was truly walking.

The gate clanged shut loudly behind them and the nun locked the entrance and offered a small wave at Kíli before turning back towards the other children inside. Bilbo noticed the handwritten sign remained plastered beneath the orphanage name, and he frowned sadly. Adopting a child had in fact done little for the orphanage's capacity problems. But, as Bilbo looked towards Kíli's overjoyed eyes, he knew, it had meant _everything_ to the boy in his arms.

Bilbo took a deep breath and offered Kíli a tiny smile before he hoisted him higher on his hip and began walking towards the little pathway that led him there in the first place. He'd barely taken two steps when he stopped in place and gasped in realisation.

"Oh heavens! I've forgotten all about my delivery!" Bilbo exclaimed and Kíli observed him with a puzzled expression.

"I still have no idea where Greenwood Ave. is," Bilbo rambled, twisting his head around in exasperation. Kíli lifted his thumb to his mouth and nibbled at his nail, looking around them with observant eyes.

"Isn't that it, just over there," Kíli asked, pointing behind the other man at a black and white street sign just a few metres away. Bilbo looked in the indicated direction, studying the leaning street post for the road just ahead. The letters were large and clear, etched across the deco sign, looking very out of place near such rundown buildings and overgrown weeds.

_Greenwood Ave_.

"Well, I'll be. What keen eyes you have Kíli," Bilbo voiced, completely baffled by the sight in front of him. How had he managed to miss that before? Kíli giggled against his side happily, tiny dimples appearing on his rounded cheeks. Bilbo was awed by the little boy, able to read at such a young age. He was so intelligent, so keen, and so full of surprises. It seemed the old man from the street had not led him astray after all. Not in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, sorry for any errors!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reception to this story has been fantastic so far! Thank you so much to anyone that's read it! Here's the next update, not quite as long as the last. Hope everyone's holiday was swell :). Did anyone see the new Sherlock episode?

It was a gloomy day, though not so much because of the weather. As Thorin glanced towards the window of his office he saw the sun shining brightly through the recently cleaned glass. It made the room he sat in feel stifling and he pulled frustratingly at his tie as though to loosen it. He'd never been fond of the humid and overly hot summers in Erebor, and even though the temperature within Durin Corp was regulated, the sight of the sun alone made him feel like he was baking beneath it. The autumn weather was much more acceptable, and much more pleasing on the eyes.

It was not just the weather that was bearing down upon him, however. There were many things on his mind. Too many things. Each day it seemed more and more responsibility was placed upon his burdened shoulders. Initially Thorin had been excited at the prospect of running Durin Corp, but now, with entire ownership nearly at his fingertips, he dreaded it more than anything else. The more control he had, the more he understood, just how corrupt, just how misdirected by power the company had become. And though initially, such power may have provided good results for the company, with rising profits and worldwide success, now, things were beginning to change.

Social structure was everything to a successful population, Thorin understood. And though once Durin Corp had thrived with the booming middle class able to provide its admittedly overpriced procedures and care, that class was all but diminished in Erebor. Now Durin Corp relied solely on the business of the wealthy, and from buying and selling to other corporations that were doing the same. It was troublesome and frustrating dealing in such business all of the time, and difficult to watch his own city nearly crumbling before his eyes.

He paid little attention to the widening gap between the classes as a child, knowing only that his family was well off and that one day he would prosper from that wealth as well. But now, now he saw the bigger picture. He saw the children that suffered on a daily basis because of such divisions, and the families that grew weary and faithless of his company's name. Their reputation was taking a nosedive and Thorin felt torn. He hated watching such corruption within the enterprise, but his father...

Thráin was a problem.

Thorin closed his eyes gently as his thoughts travelled to the past. Once upon his time, his father cared about his family, the people, Erebor as a whole. He always spoke of such incredible dreams and ideas, and somehow all of that, changed.

Thorin's own grandfather, Thrór, started Durin Corp just after finishing school. For a long time it was nothing more than an idea. A company dedicated to helping others in need, in developing new cures and procedures in an effort to support as many people as possible. Thrór was the very definition of a good man, and Thráin grew up wanting to be just like him. Thorin remembered his father working tirelessly to help those in need, while still making sure his family grew up healthy and happy. Even during those times certain temptation existed for his father. His thirst for money proved a weakness, and as the class divisions widened, more cuts had to be made to keep profits up. Jobs were lost, donations were lessened. But still, to a young Thorin, everything was…wonderful.

Then there was the accident. Thráin was never the same after that day, so many years ago. He lost his wife, and his youngest son, in a matter of minutes. Much of the day was a blur, but several moments stuck out in Thorin's mind. He remembered getting the call, listening as his sister cried over the phone, stuttering as she explained everything. A lethal explosion capsized one of many research buildings owned by rival company Alfirin Labs. His mother happened to be visiting the site with his brother Frerin on that particular day. She was working tentatively with several researchers to develop new medications in a joint effort. It was supposed to act as a peace offering between the two companies that had long been at odds with one another. It ended up resulting in the exact opposite.

Thorin remembered rushing to the hospital, shouting at the receptionist, and then the sight of his mother's bloody hand as several doctors pushed the gurney down the stark hospital halls. He remembered the police telling him there was nothing left of his little brother's body, all of it lost in the explosion. The weeks following that particular moment were nothing more than a blur.

Thorin's father quickly placed blame on Oropher, the CEO of Alfirin Labs, as well as his family, while Oropher placed the blame on Thráin. Surely it was no mere accident, though the police found little evidence in the ruins left behind. It changed Thráin, altered his perception on the world and created a wider rift between the two companies. He began to distrust others; he became even more fanatical with his wealth, throwing himself into the monetary growth of the company. He cared little for the suffering of others, and grew concerned only with things that benefited Durin Corp. He was always a bit of a perfectionist, but it transformed into an obsession. He wanted complete control over the appearance of his family, of his buildings and successes. Where they went, what they did, what they ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Everything had to be perfect. Eyesores were eliminated, and the people he once loved so dearly turned into mere blemishes on his perfect regime. Anything that tarnished the company name or threatened its success was eradicated, to the point that Thorin felt sick with regret, for not stepping in and doing something, anything to stop the other man's tyranny. Unfortunately grief consumed him for many years as well, and he'd mindlessly done whatever his father commanded of him.

Each day Thráin's illness worsened. He had long been sick with madness, but now he was a mere shadow of his former self. He'd experimented too much, drank more than was healthy for any man, and now Thorin barely recognized him. There were moments, during which Thorin saw the man Thráin once was, moments in which he saw his father. The man he once looked up to, the man that bought Thorin and his brother and sister ice cream at the travelling circus, the man that put out spare food for strays, and stopped to listen to people busking on street corners. But the moments always passed by quickly, and his father would quickly return to his obsession of expanding the company.

For a man that insisted on appearances, Thráin was rather blind to the opinions and sights of the general public. It mattered not what lesser people thought of Durin Corp, so long as profits were up, so long as the business was successful and dignified to those of worth. But Thorin could predict the future. It was only a matter of time before the company disintegrated, without the support of the people their profits would surely begin to fall. Corporations could only rely on buying and selling to other corporations while there were people to provide services for.

There were so many things that needed to change, but without full control of the company, it was impossible. His father would never relinquish his hold, not until he succumbed to his illness and Thorin received everything by law. And he did not want his father to die. He wanted him to recover, but that was impossible too. It was painful, knowing that his father's death was the only real path towards fixing things, while he also clung to the memories of past, desperately praying they would not slip away. He still blindly hoped that one day Thráin would return to the man he once was. And besides that, Thorin just wasn't ready to run a company. He feared himself, more than anything else. He feared following in his father's footsteps. The passing years aided little in Thorin's perception of the world and he'd grown so accustomed to accepting deals for the monetary gain of the company it was like second nature.

Thorin sighed deeply, doing his best to relax his tightening shoulder muscles. He was stressed, and worn. He never was much of a people person, and now his position forced him to deal with assholes and idiots on a daily basis. He wondered how his father ever managed to run the company for so many years without folding under the pressure. Though, Thorin reminded himself, in the end it was costing him dearly.

His eyes opened and narrowed with anger as he tried his best to burn a hole in the item sitting before him, with no more than his gaze. Thranduil's elegant and dainty scrawl stood out on the white envelope, the current CEO of Alfirin Labs. Thorin nearly growled. Why the man couldn't just call and leave a message with Balin was beyond Thorin. If it wasn't a formal apology from the man he didn't give a damn. But more than likely it was yet another complaint about Fíli getting into fights with his little brat of a son, or a request for Thorin to sell Durin Corp. Over his dead body. He stuck his finger in an opening on the envelope and ripped it roughly, quickly scanning over the contents. It was a combination of the two. Thorin's face scrunched up and he crumpled the paper between his fingers and tossed it aggressively at the waste bin beneath his desk. It bounced off the rim and landed on the floor tauntingly.

_Bastard_.

Thorin rubbed tediously at his temples, where strands of his hair were already growing in white instead of the dark black he'd grown up with. It wasn't just the business that worried him. Now he had the added responsibility of raising a little boy on top of everything else. The past few years proved difficult and dealing with complaints and business deals while struggling to work through the impending death of his father and the repercussions of his actions had not helped. And…then there was the loss of his sister. Not only did he have yet more grief to work through, he was also adjusting to becoming an unplanned parent, and juggling caring for a child with learning as much as he could about business.

Thorin glanced quickly to the leather sofa on the right side of his office. His little nephew sat atop it, sullenly looking out the window much as Thorin had just moments before. The shadows from the window cast foreboding shapes across the boy's face and made his eyes look empty and dark. Thorin frowned and worried about the world Fíli was growing up within, so many questions crowding his overworked mind. How large would the divisions between wealthy and poor be when Fíli was grown? Would his nephew grow up thinking such things were commonplace? Would the boy even be happy in such a world? Would Fíli's shoulders someday tense with stress and worry as his did? And worst of all…would Thorin be the cause of it?

At current Fíli was certainly very, very unhappy. He pouted dramatically, a permanent glare plastered across his features as he jutted his bloody lower lip out. The boy was always getting into trouble. It seemed he couldn't talk to another child without throwing a punch or snapping out a biting comment. The boy was a troublemaker, and Thorin didn't have a clue what to do about it.

Thorin's eyes moved to the grandfather clock across from him.

_11:14 am_

It was far too early in the day to have to deal with such things. It seemed Fíli couldn't even make it to lunch time without starting something at school. And it happened so frequently that the teachers simply called up Thorin's security and sent him home instead of keeping him onsite. He was getting tired of covering up the child's reckless antics.

"What have I told you about getting into fights?" Thorin asked, gazing wearily at the blonde boy sitting across the room. Fíli was slouching now, and kicking his feet into the sofa repeatedly. He reminded Thorin so much of Frerin, the same wavy hair, the same wild spirit. His brother's disdain for the rules always made Thorin laugh as a boy, though now he understood why his mother fretted much of the time whenever they got into trouble.

"What's it matter?" Fíli muttered in return, refusing to look in his uncle's direction. Thorin twisted a fountain pen between his fingers anxiously and eyed the boy with frustration.

"Appearances are everything; you must know that all of your actions impact our family," Thorin lectured, but he froze when Fíli whipped his head around, piercing blue eyes directed his way. He looked like a wild animal, his hair mussed and knotted, his clothes rumpled about his small frame.

"You sound just like grandfather," Fíli spat with distaste and Thorin jolted at the statement, the pen frozen between his fingertips. He didn't like when others compared him to his father, and he certainly never wanted Fíli to do such a thing. His anger immediately deflated.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Thorin apologized heavily, dropping the pen on his desk with a loud clack. Fíli's eyes were red around the edges and his gaze dropped to the ground before he sniffled quietly. Thorin reprimanded himself for not noticing just how distressed his nephew was before beginning to lecture him.

"Fíli," Thorin uttered, drawing his nephew's attention again, though this time his expression was far less intense, and much more upset.

"Come here my boy," Thorin beckoned, turning his chair to the side and holding out an arm. Fíli slid off the sofa slowly and dragged his feet across the thick carpet, stopping just in front of his uncle. He kept his head lowered and refused to look Thorin in the eyes, even when the older man moved to check his face for more injuries with concern. Thorin settled his hand on Fíli's cheek gently before brushing some stray hairs aside, then lifted the child into his lap. It was not long before the boy's shoulders shook ever so slightly and tears began creating wet trails down Thorin's dress shirt, though Fíli did his best to stifle the sound of his sobs.

Thorin hated watching his nephew in such pain, but he still felt awkward dealing with such situations. He tentatively placed a comforting hand on the boy's back and rubbed it in a soothing circle. Dís would have known exactly what to do. She was so wonderful with children, and she had loved her son so dearly. She would have been unbelievably disappointed in Thorin. He had failed her, broken so many promises.

Eventually Fíli's shaking shoulders relaxed and Thorin watched as the boy picked at his fingernails anxiously. It was a bad habit, and one Thráin certainly would have reprimanded the child for, but Thorin refrained from doing so. Instead he moved his hand to the back of Fíli's neck and into the messy ever-growing hair. Fíli refused to get it cut, and Thorin would not force him, not when his own hair hung even longer, tied with a band at the nape of his neck.

"What were you thinking of?" Thorin asked calmly, and Fíli sniffled once more and lifted his thumb to bite the nail from it. Thorin cringed as the piece snapped off and fell to the floor.

"Mama," Fíli whispered and Thorin noticed his lip begin to tremble again. It was not often that Fíli cried. The boy was determined and angry most of the time, refusing to show weakness in front of his teachers and school mates. Thorin tilted his nephew's head back and looked into the child's watery blue eyes. The pain he saw surprised him.

"What happened, my child?" Thorin probed, and he wiped at the tear trails on the boy's face. Fíli lifted an arm and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"They called me an orphan," he murmured brokenly, and Thorin's eyes widened. He didn't remember school children being so cruel while he had grown up. However, at the time he had several friends, his siblings, as well as a solid family name. A name that everyone respected. Many of Thráin's decisions tarnished the opinions of their family name, even amongst the wealthy. He supposed it was not so unlikely that children heard the whispered discussions of their parents and repeated them at school.

"You're not an orphan," he insisted, and Fíli's gaze hardened as he directed a familiar glare at his uncle.

"Yes I am," Fíli snarled.

"Fíli," Thorin began, unsure exactly what to say. It hurt admittedly that Fíli did not consider him a parent, but he should not have been all that surprised. Work consumed much of his free time, and Fíli was often left in the care of Dwalin or Balin while Thorin slaved away on business matters.

"I looked it up, Orphan, noun, a child whose parents are dead. I'm an orphan," Fíli spoke confidently before Thorin had a chance to continue. The older man observed the boy with astonishment. His nephew was too smart for his own good, and Thorin mentally cursed Balin for giving him too many books to read. His advisor always insisted that Fíli was bored, that he needed more challenging things to keep him preoccupied and out of trouble. But sometimes knowledge was more of a problem, at least when it came to persuading the boy.

Thorin sighed heavily and leant back in his chair while Fíli sat moodily atop his lap. He wanted to tell the child he was not alone, that Thorin was there for him, could be a father to him. But he knew it was not true, and that Fíli would more than likely argue against the statement. He was a shit father. How the hell was he supposed to run one of the biggest companies in the world when he couldn't even keep his nephew from getting hurt at school on a daily basis? So many things could have been different. If only Dís had survived, if only…if only Thorin had stopped his father's tyranny sooner. The other man's actions were unforgiveable.

"What do you remember of her?" Thorin asked quietly, and he watched the anger fade from Fíli's face then pulled the boy to lean against his chest.

"I remember…she had dark hair, and she smiled a lot," he mumbled and began playing with the end of his uncle's tie.

"She did," Thorin agreed, his lips lifting slightly at the corners.

"And she used to sing," Fíli uttered, as he began humming the haunting melody of a song. Thorin recognized the tune immediately, and his eyes moved towards the small box he kept atop his desk. It was one of very few items there, as he preferred to keep his workplace clutter free. Thorin possessed little of his sister's belongings, much of it auctioned off after her death, but the small music box, he refused to part with. He was not sure where she ever managed to find such a thing, as it was worn, and very simple in design. It clashed with the décor in the rest of his office, and he figured Thráin would have disposed of it in a second for being no more than an eyesore.

Dís had always loved music. She kept the little box close, and after her husband's mysterious death, yet more tragedy in their family, she found solace in the melancholy sounds it played. It was probably why Fíli remembered that particular song so well. Thorin hummed the tune along with his nephew and pulled the music box across the desk, setting it in Fíli's tiny hands. The boy stopped humming and looked at it with confusion, running his fingers along the worn wood.

"Go on, wind it up," Thorin voiced, and Fíli bit his lip and hesitantly twisted the tiny gold key that stuck out from the side. It made a loud noise with each crank, then when he could wind it no more Fíli looked up at his uncle and let go. The boy's eyes widened as it started playing the same tune and he gasped loudly and looked between the box and Thorin several times.

"It was your mother's," Thorin mentioned, tugging the boy tighter to his chest. Fíli sat awestruck by the little box, and he held it close to his chest as he listened to the metallic noise echo throughout the room. He clutched at it like a lifeline and Thorin realised, Fíli had never owned a single thing of his mother's, nothing to remember her by except the very few memories he still held on to. No more than vague images, fleeting moments. Even pictures of Dís proved hard to come by, Thráin having destroyed many of them in a fit of rage. He needed it more than Thorin.

"You can keep it, Fíli," he voiced and his nephew looked up at him with moist eyes. The boy seemed ready to say something but it caught in his throat, and instead the two just sat and listened to the melody play out, until the music slowed and the last few notes dragged, then finally stopped.

"I miss her," Fíli admitted, turning his face into Thorin's chest.

"Me too," Thorin whispered in return. He reached down and twisted the key again, and Fíli settled against him as the melody filled the room once more. The grandfather clock ticked away across the room, and Thorin mused for the rest of the afternoon, while his nephew slumbered to the tune that had often lulled him to sleep as a babe. Thorin ran a thumb across one of the bruises on Fíli's face and frowned as the child twitched in his sleep. He never wanted his nephew to feel unwanted or unloved, and he vowed to do his best to raise him properly, to never treat him poorly. If that meant bettering the future, then so be it. Thorin would not allow the company to fall, if only to make sure Fíli was taken care of. It was the least he could do for the child, and for his lost sister. He would have to earn the trust of the people back first.

He needed a fresh start, a new name, something that separated his entrance as CEO from Thráin's image. Thorin's eyes circled the room as he tried to think of something relevant to the family. Something that was different enough that others would make little to no connection between them, but still held personal value. He wanted a name that brought with it security, trust, and protection, everything Durin Corp once stood for. He paused on his family's coat of arms that hung heavily upon the wall. It was bold and shaped like a shield, the strong form of an oak tree dividing it in half and separating various symbols around the perimeter. His eyes studied it for a moment before he chuckled lightly in triumph. _Oakenshield_. It had a certain ring to it. Thorin grinned and looked back at his nephew who snuggled a bit more into his chest. It would take some time, but perhaps everything would be okay. He wound up the music box one more time and let his worries temporarily float away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, the great Broodosaurus. 
> 
> The song I picture the music box playing is from Pan’s Labyrinth and can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47mLY8vX3L0
> 
> Alfirin: Sindarin for immortal


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this update took a bit longer than the past couple, mainly because I did a fair bit of drawing as well, which you can find on my [Tumblr](http://shinigami714.tumblr.com). Thanks to everyone who’s reading this story! All comments are very much appreciated. Oh, and I joined the Hobbit Big Bang this week under both art and writing, which is scary. I’ve never done something like this before. I have several story ideas but I’m not sure which to go with yet…I could plan the Moonflower sequel, or do something completely new. Suggestions?

Greenwood Ave was once part of a booming suburban middle class neighbourhood, housing fairly well off families. The gardens always showcased a spectrum of colours and arrangements, and the homes were usually well maintained. But now, the street showed signs of wear, struggling more and more like much the rest of Erebor's communities. The gardens were barren, the driveways empty of cars, and the green lawns looked dried and decrepit. Homes showed visible decay, with broken windows left unrepaired or boarded up, and chipping paint along the edges. Families were cutting back wherever they could in an attempt to hold on to their homes and livelihood, and the number of for sale signs and abandoned lots was quite dismaying.

A short and awkward walk down Greenwood Ave and the delivery was made, albeit late. Bilbo tugged his broken bicycle along beside him while Kíli clung against his other side. It took a few minutes to find the correct address amongst the overgrown homes, but regardless, the box of doughnuts arrived safe and sound to a happy customer. The home was larger than Bilbo's own, but not extravagant and a little redheaded girl answered the door with widened eyes and an impish grin. She wasted no time swiping the box clutched in Bilbo's hand before scampering away, lifting the lid as she skipped. Her parents were generous and tipped him, despite the hour and their obvious signs of monetary struggle. Then before he began the trek back down their front steps the redheaded girl reappeared, sprinkles caked across her mouth, and she offered the two one of her prized doughnuts, which Kíli tentatively reached out to take.

It was a rather long walk home, but the doughnut shared between them helped distract the two for some of it. And Kíli's constant questions kept Bilbo awake and moving. The boy was interested in absolutely everything, pointing at things and inquiring about Bilbo's job. Soon the questions tapered off and Kíli let out a long drawn out yawn before resting his head on Bilbo's shoulder. The boy's eyes remained open slightly for a few minutes, as he tried desperately to stay awake, but soon enough they drooped closed and he left Bilbo to finish the walk in silence.

In all honesty, Bilbo's legs and feet were dreadfully sore, and his arm was cramping and tingling uncomfortably from holding Kíli in one position for so long. He stopped and shuffled the boy on his chest gently, took a deep breath, and continued walking with his bike dragging on the opposite side. The trip gave him a lot of time to think. Each time he passed a family or a group of playing children he was struck with realisation as he looked to the boy resting on his shoulder. Kíli would never walk.

He had of course always understood that fact, but now, he was starting to understand everything that significant detail affected. Bilbo figured he would need to make a lot of changes to his relatively simple lifestyle. He'd need to allow time to help Kíli, getting everywhere, doing anything he needed that involved movement. He'd have to take Kíli to work with him during the day or find another to look after him while he was gone. Realistically he would not be able to carry him around forever, and he cringed at the thought of buying an expensive wheelchair. Could he afford it? No, he probably couldn't, but he would have to, somehow.

His mind recalled the cart Kíli sat upon in the orphanage and he briefly wondered if perhaps he'd made a mistake leaving it behind. He squashed the though quickly however. He could never consider such a thing. Regardless of cost Bilbo would find Kíli a wheelchair, one that at the very least allowed Kíli to move, and sit in, at a proper height. His selfish thoughts were disgusting and he refused to let them resurface again. Kíli deserved better, much better. Even if Bilbo had to skip a few meals each week, it would be worth it, to see even a hint of a smile on the little brunette's face.

For several moments Bilbo just watched Kíli sleep, accompanied only by the sound of leaves blowing in the trees, and the repetitive screeching of his broken bicycle. Bilbo could almost pretend that Kíli was a completely normal child, slumbering away on his shoulder, not a care in the world. But he knew better. The tiny creases in Kíli's brow and the dirt caked beneath his broken fingernails gave away any illusions he may have had. He truly hoped he could bring Kíli happiness, and that his little rundown house in a shabby neighbourhood did not let the boy down.

Bilbo heaved a relieved sigh when he recognized the aging maple at the end of his street. He turned the corner and braced himself before whispering in Kíli's ear.

"Time to wake up, sleepyhead," Bilbo murmured and Kíli stirred a little and blinked his eyes open wearily. He looked confused for a moment, blinking at his unfamiliar surroundings, but then he smiled when he recognized Bilbo's face and pulled off his shoulder to wipe at his sleep crusted eyes. Little imprints from the fabric of Bilbo's shirt stood out on his pale skin and the man stifled a laugh at the adorable sight.

As Bilbo approached the rickety white gate that led up to his home Kíli eagerly whipped his head about to take in their surroundings. His eyes widened as they fell upon Bilbo's little one story home, glancing from the missing shingles on the roof down the chipped bricks and landing across the tiny yard. He looked around the neighbourhood then eyed the little mailbox as Bilbo gestured nervously ahead.

"Welcome home, Kíli," Bilbo spoke softly, and the gate creaked as he pulled it open and stepped just inside.

"It's not much, but, I hope you like it, a little at least," Bilbo twittered nervously and glanced at Kíli's face to gauge his reaction. The boy pulled away from him a bit and ran his fingers over the mailbox fondly, touching the ridges that formed the name 'Baggins'. His eyebrows crumpled and Bilbo thought he might cry, but no tears came, and Kíli continued to study the property avidly. He seemed completely enraptured by the sight, his mouth gaping just a bit, and Bilbo felt his tiny fingers tighten in his shirt. Suddenly Kíli turned excited eyes on him and smiled brilliantly. The little home was more than Kíli had ever imagined. It was perfect.

Bilbo returned the smile fondly, and as they began walking down the short stone path he caught sight of his neighbour waving from over the fence.

"Oh, hello Runa!" Bilbo spoke, wheeling his bike over to the fence and propping it there. The stout woman smiled curiously at him then her eyes widened as she looked down at the squeaking piece of metal.

"What on earth happened to your bike Mr. Bilbo?" she exclaimed, leaning over to the fence to look closer. She was a kindly soul, always looking out for her neighbours. Some might have called her snoopy, or a gossip, but in fact she always had other's best interests at heart. Bilbo owed her a great deal, though she would never expect anything in return. He was incredibly lucky to possess so many wonderful friends.

"Glóin! Glóin!" she shouted heartily, calling her husband over from the barbeque. He waved away some smoke and closed the lid, striding across the yard with a frown, their son following in his stead. Glóin's eyebrows raised and he leant over the fence to twist the bicycle's handlebars, making a surprised face as he inspected the damage.

"You really did a number on this, I'll say," he muttered, before hoisting it over the fence.

"Oh, you don't have to do that!" Bilbo gasped in surprise, and Kíli watched the interaction with interest.

"Not to worry Mr. Bilbo, Glóin will take care of it, won't you husband dearest," Runa insisted and she slapped Glóin heartily and the man waved her off and bent down to tinker with the brakes. The two bickered often in public, but much of it was for show. There was no doubt they were madly in love. It was a relationship Bilbo often envied, but truly he was happy for the couple, they were two of his closest friends.

"Everything's fixable!" Glóin commented, and he wiped his hands together eagerly and wheeled the bike away. Bilbo did not doubt him. The other man was a talented mechanic, and Bilbo knew he could fix just about anything given enough time to work away at it.

"Thanks," Bilbo whispered bashfully, and he ran a hand through his hair and adjusted Kíli on his shoulder. Runa's eyes finally landed on the boy and she tilted her head to the side and bent forwards to peer at him closely.

"And who might this be? I don't think I've seen you're cute little face around these parts before," she probed; a friendly smile on her face, and Kíli flushed and pressed his nose timidly into Bilbo's shoulder. Her eyes softened and she looked towards Bilbo for the answer instead.

"This is Kíli. He'll be…staying with me, from now on!" Bilbo explained and the woman clapped her hands together excitedly. She looked as though she wanted to ask hundreds of questions, but was holding back. There would be time for such things later, and Bilbo figured she had already worked much of it out for herself.

"Oh! How lovely! Nice to meet you, Kíli," she exclaimed and Kíli turned to look at her with a shy grin.

"This is my troublesome little menace of a son, Gimli," Runa voiced, pulling her son in for a sidelong hug as she patted him on his head.

"Maaa, you're messing up my hair!" Gimli groaned, and he shrugged her off and patted down his red locks. The boy waved at Kíli and lifted his chin proudly and Kíli waved back uneasily.

"Would you like a biscuit Kíli? Fresh from the oven this morning," Runa offered, slowly encouraging Kíli to open up. It was a talent of hers, bringing others out of their shells. She'd done wonders for Bilbo, always encouraging him to speak out about his feelings and opinions and to stand up for what he believed in.

"I've never had a biscuit…," Kíli admitted nervously, and Gimli gaped at him in surprise while Runa looked slightly affronted. She pulled on her flowing skirt and touched the end of Kíli's nose.

"You'll like it, I promise. Not a child in Brandywine that hasn't loved one of my biscuits!" she insisted, before turning to knock her son on the shoulder.

"Gimli, go fetch them, quickly!" she urged, and he groaned and jogged away into their humble home. Runa spent the next few moments complimenting Kíli on his laugh and hair, while he blushed and looked between her and Bilbo happily. Soon enough Gimli returned with a little tin in hand, and Kíli had his choice of over a dozen brightly coloured cookies. He chose a pale green one with purple icing and yellow sprinkles and held it up in wonder before taking a tiny bight.

"Well darling?" Runa asked taking the tin from her son and offering a biscuit to Bilbo as well, and Kíli's eyes widened as he immediately took another bite.

"It's w-wonderful!" he cried out, a few crumbs falling from his mouth and he wiped them away with an embarrassed blush. Runa laughed heartily and Gimli tried to stealthily swipe a few biscuits of his own.

"What a sweetheart this one is. You'll have to watch out for him, Bilbo. The ladies will be all over him," she joked and Gimli gagged loudly from beside her. She smacked her son lightly across the side of his head again and leaned over the fence.

"You two come on over for dinner anytime you like, hear me? Got to help each other out in these times. Perhaps little Kíli here can play tag with our troublesome lot," Runa suggested, glancing at her son, and Gimli's eyes lit up at the prospect of another playmate. Kíli's expression did just the opposite. He tensed in Bilbo's arms and the smile fell from his face while he turned away from his new neighbours with a gasp. Kíli was very familiar with the game of tag. And he knew it was impossible for him to play, at least the way it was meant to be played. The children in the orphanage had often antagonized him over it, tagging him and mocking him, standing just out of arm's reach. He actually preferred it when they excluded him entirely.

Runa watched the boy's expression dull and his hands tighten and she frowned in confusion. She did not recall saying anything that might upset the little one and she looked towards Bilbo for an explanation. The man fidgeted and eyed the boy in his arms sorrowfully.

"Ah..well, you see…," Bilbo began, attempting to explain the situation as delicately as possible. He did not want to upset Kíli further by being too blunt, but he also knew there was nothing for the child to be ashamed about. Before he was able to continue however, Kíli turned back towards Runa with a determined expression.

"I-I can't walk, my legs don't work right," Kíli mumbled, his lower lip trembling just slightly, and he pulled his eyes quickly away from her surprised gaze. For the first time in her life, Runa was at a loss for words. Her mouth fell open and she looked Kíli up and down, searching for any sign of such a disability. His legs were a little thin for a boy his age, but then again, he was thin everywhere, and she felt bad for making such an insensitive comment even though she couldn't have known. Gimli seemed shocked as well, but he recovered faster and he tugged on his mother's skirt forcefully.

"It don't matter ma, he don't look heavy. I can carry 'im on me back and we can be a team!" Gimli suggested, and then he grinned up at Kíli who was watching him oddly.

"R-really?" Kíli stuttered, not used to another child actually wanting to play with him, while Bilbo and Runa grew fascinated by the interaction between the two.

"Yeh! I'm strong already, like me da!" Gimli bragged, and he struck a pose, clenching his hands into fists and showing off his gangly arms. Kíli giggled at him and Gimli flushed a bit but kept changing his poses, until they became so ridiculous even Runa and Bilbo were laughing as well. The little redheaded boy looked extremely satisfied that he'd made so many people laugh and he grinned a toothy triumphant smile. Not long after Kíli let out a wide yawn, and Runa covered her mouth in surprise before shooing Gimli inside to wash up.

"Oh, I should let you two go. Bye bye Kíli! It was a pleasure meeting you," Runa voiced, and she waved and turned to head inside as well, but not before handing Kíli one last cookie.

"And I'll send some of Gimli's old things over tomorrow night, I don't imagine you've got much in Kíli's size, have you Mr. Bilbo?" she shouted back over her shoulder and Bilbo realised she was right. He was not a very tall man, but Kíli would still look dwarfed in any of his clothes, and the few items packed from the orphanage were well worn and in desperate need of replacement.

"Thank you, Runa," Bilbo expressed, truly grateful for the woman's perceptiveness. He turned and walked the few steps towards his front door, bending his neck to whisper in Kíli's ear.

"Sorry about that, a bit of an exciting day. Runa really does love to talk, sometimes she can be a bit overbearing, but a lovely woman all around. Without her and Glóin I don't know where I'd be. Come to think of it, without a lot of people I don't know where I'd be. Hope I haven't scared you off with first impressions," Bilbo queried, and Kíli shook his head in the collar of his shirt. Bilbo smiled fondly and reached out towards his door, unlocking it quickly, before a thought struck him and he looked down at Kíli's face.

"Want to turn the knob?" Bilbo asked, and the boy glanced towards the door excitedly. His eyes took in the entire entryway, from the little brown fuzzy welcome mat to the crooked numbers and the deep green door. He reached out, his tiny fingers grasping the tarnished bronze door knob, and he turned it slowly. It creaked, and the door hitched slightly but remained in place.

"Oh, it's a bit sticky; just give it a little push," Bilbo encouraged, and Kíli did so, with the other's help. The door opened with a loud crack and Bilbo stepped inside, shutting it gently behind them.

"Ah, there we are. I know I said it already, but, welcome home," Bilbo remarked, letting the child take in his surroundings. Kíli stared down the tiny hallway his grip loose while Bilbo kicked off his shoes.

"Mr. Bilbo," Kíli whispered, looking up at him intently, and Bilbo jolted at the sight of unshed tears in the boy's brown eyes.

"Thank you," he spoke so quietly that Bilbo was unsure he'd actually heard the words, but Kíli's eyes expressed them regardless.

"There's nothing to thank me for, little one," Bilbo insisted, and he tugged Kíli's torn shoes from his feet and dropped them to the floor in the entranceway. It took just a few minutes to show Kíli around his small home. There was only one bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette with a small dining table. Then they walked through the little lounge area and Kíli eyed the old books that lined the walls eagerly. Bilbo pointed out the door that led to his modest bedroom then moved to the only other, pushing it open and gesturing inside.

"Well, this one's all yours. The bed's got a bit of a creak in it, but the blankets are nice and warm. My mother made them years ago. Though it probably smells a bit dusty, I don't often have overnight guests," Bilbo admitted and Kíli gaped at the sight. It was quite small, a little single bed pushed against one wall with a tiny stand and lamp next to it, while a dresser and work desk sat along the opposite side. On the farthest wall, at the head of the bed, dwelt a small window with heavy curtains in front of it that blocked out the light.

"…Wow," Kíli gasped, speechless at the prospect of actually having his own bedroom. In the orphanage he shared with at least twenty other children, all packed into one room, with tiny mattresses layered on the floors. There were a few beds, but not enough to support all of the children. The blankets there were just as worn as the rest of his belongings, holes in many of them, and very thin to the touch. The floral print quilt on his new bed looked warm and inviting, and Kíli did not care if it was dusty at all.

The next hour or so proved a little awkward as Bilbo helped Kíli get ready to settle in for the night. He did his best to encourage the child and let him know there was no shame in needing his help, and that it was okay to ask for absolutely anything he needed. Bilbo wanted Kíli to feel accepted and loved, and he still saw the wariness in Kíli's expression when he spoke and looked around. He knew it would take some time, he would have to be patient. And as Bilbo held Kíli before the bathroom mirror and showed him how to brush his own teeth, he realised many things needed to change around his home to accommodate for the newest member of his family. Not the least of all was purchasing a new toothbrush, as his somehow managed to find its way into the toilet bowl.

A few minutes later, with partially brushed teeth, Kíli sat on his new bed waiting while Bilbo rummaged around his house and got ready to sleep as well. He toyed with the quilts and snuggled beneath them while he looked around his new bedroom yet again. Everything about it was perfect. Even the giant shirt he wore as a night-robe was comfortable. His fingers played with the curtains above him and he pulled them out slightly and peered out at the stars with wonder. He simply could not believe it. Surely when he woke in the morning, he'd be back in the orphanage, in his cold bed, waiting for one of the nuns to carry him to the bathroom and help him to breakfast. It must have been a dream, an extravagant and very well crafted dream.

Bilbo shuffled in, little brown plaid slippers on his feet, and Kíli sat up and dropped the curtains quickly, as though he was not allowed to touch them. The other man approached without comment and pulled up the little wooden chair from the desk, sitting beside him. He held two peculiar black contraptions in his hands, and handed one to Kíli. The boy looked at the box strangely, then pressed the button on the side and jolted as it made a screeching electronic noise. It fell from his fingers to the bedding and Bilbo chuckled from his side.

"Oh good! They work! I found these in my storage cabinet. I knew they were around somewhere. They're walkie-talkies! Have you heard of them before?" Bilbo asked, and Kíli shook his head quickly. He stared at the object on his bed warily.

"Quite easy to use, watch, I just push this button, and…," Bilbo began, the same scratchy noise sounding from the black box in his hand.

"Testing, one, two, three, anyone home?" Bilbo asked, and Kíli gasped when he heard the sound come from the object on his bed. He stared at it a moment, then reached out and picked it up again, biting his lip as he glanced up at the man beside him. Bilbo signalled towards the button on his own and Kíli pressed it in a couple of times before holding it down and lifting it to his face.

"H-hello?" He stammered, and Bilbo smiled when Kíli's small voice sounded from the walkie-talkie in his hand. Kíli laughed and said a few more things, while Bilbo talked back to him and then the boy placed the object next to his pillow.

"You can keep one in here, and then if you need me, for anything, just let me know," Bilbo commented, tucking the other in the pocket of his bathrobe.

"It should work no matter where I am in the house, though probably not much farther than that," he said, reaching out to pat Kíli on the head.

"All ready for bed?" Bilbo asked, and Kíli nodded and slipped back under the covers. He rolled on his side and clenched the walkie-talkie between his arms like one might a stuffed animal. Bilbo shuffled towards the doorway and flicked the light off turning to look back in the room, but his eyes widened when he saw Kíli tense and heard a light gasp.

"Mr. Bilbo," Kíli whispered, his eyes wide and his fingers clenching tight around the handheld transmitter. He hated the nights. He hated darkness. What if he fell asleep, and woke up in the shadows of the orphanage? What if he woke to children circling his bed, chanting at him, mocking him?

"Can you leave the light on?" Kíli pleaded nervously, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

"I…I promise I'll go right to sleep…I'll be good I swear," Kíli persisted and instead of turning the lights on Bilbo walked back and sat beside him again.

"You don't like the dark?" he asked, running a hand through Kíli bangs and the brunette shook his head and pressed his nose into the pillow. Bilbo sat back and shuffled around on the little table nearby before turning on the tiny lamp, and a soft glow filled the room. The shade provided a much more soothing light than the overhead lamp and Kíli lifted his gaze to look at it slowly.

"Here, how's this?" Bilbo asked, sitting back down, and Kíli sniffled a bit, and the tension in his shoulders lessened a little.

"I can stay if you like, until you fall asleep?" Bilbo suggested, reaching out his hand. Kíli latched on to it immediately, and nodded. Bilbo's eyes softened and he pulled the blankets up a little higher over the boy's shoulder and watched his lids close in sleep. Kíli's breaths evened out and his grip loosened, but Bilbo still held tight to his hand, never once regretting his decision to adopt, regardless of the difficulties they might encounter. He stroked Kíli's brow and kissed his temple, leaning forward to rest his head on the bed.

"I'll do everything in my power to care for you," Bilbo promised, closing his eyes and falling into sleep as well. In the morning he would wake with a crick in his neck, a sore back, and achy hips. He would grumble and groan, and berate himself for sleeping in such an awkward position. But the joy in Kíli's eyes when he woke and saw his dreams were real, would wash each and every complaint away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing will probably start picking up a little from here on, but I really wanted to spend these chapters developing the setting.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start by saying, I'm so very sorry for the wait. It's been a stressful month, I was sick with an awful cold for a solid two weeks, and I've also been incredibly busy. Between work, prepping my cosplay for costume con, and bridesmaid duties, my days have been tightly packed. This chapter is perhaps not as long as I would have liked, but it's something. I've received a few negative reviews on some of my older stories, but also some great ones on this one, which were rather encouraging. Thanks to everyone who's reading along! I feel like I've become so invested in these characters…I hope the Hobbit fandom never dies.

It had lasted for the past five hours, the constant raucous sound of his father's manic rambling. Thráin spoke frenzied words over and over again while Thorin stood and watched him, eyes blank and face drawn with weariness. Thráin's disjointed sentences were interrupted only by his interspersed laughs. And no matter how cruel Thráin's words sometimes were, Thorin far preferred them to the grating sound of his father's hysterical laughter that spoke only of his insanity.

The pounding between Thorin's eyebrows worsened with each passing moment, and he wondered how much longer he would be forced to endure such torture. He wanted desperately to vacate the stuffy room, to leave his father's muttering and find solace elsewhere in the quiet halls of the hospital. Even the medicinal smells and beeping of machines would be better, more manageable for his overworked mind. But he could not leave him, not in his last hours.

It was only a matter of time, the nurses insisted, until Thráin finally succumbed to death. His heart was weak; his body drained, as he had refused any kind of nourishment for days. Even the doctors would not venture near for fear of the old man's unpredictable nature. He'd lashed out at Thorin several times, and now the dark haired man stood a good distance away, leaning heavily against the pale green wall of the hospital room. Thorin's eyes remained fixed on his father's face, taking in each word, each movement, no matter how insane. His suit jacket lay haphazardly across the back of a nearby chair, and Thorin did not even acknowledge the creases that now littered the stiff fabric. Had Thráin been more aware he most certainly would have reprimanded his son, not only for his treatment of a good suit, but also for his slouched posture, and unkempt appearance. As it was, Thráin said nothing to his son, merely shouted out incoherent words at random while his wide eyes looked anxiously to and fro.

Thorin was not sure his father even saw him standing within the room; saw anything at all, so absorbed as he was in the visions of his deteriorating mind. And yet Thorin held on to a faint hope that Thráin's eyes would clear, and lock on to his own with some kind of recognition.

He was not sure what he wished for from his father. An apology perhaps, for the way he'd treated not only Thorin, but his grandson and daughter, and anyone who crossed his path in the past few years. Or perhaps a simple acknowledgment, words of love, to remind Thorin that the hysterical being before him was in fact human, was in fact his father, and still held on to some fondness for his own son.

"Traitors, all of you!" Thráin shouted suddenly, sitting up slightly and reaching forward to grip at his coverings, his words more coherent than usual. Thorin fought back the urge to move towards the dying man and settle him back down on the bed. He knew it would only make the other man angrier, and he settled for running his fingers through his scraggly and unwashed hair. The silver strands streaked through his dark locks seemed more plentiful than ever, and they aged his appearance well beyond his years.

"Useless, garbage!" Thráin muttered, and his jaw stretched as drool dribbled down from the edge of his mouth. Thorin swallowed painfully and fought off the urge to slide down the wall and cower on the ground, he could not handle much more of this. Instead he rubbed harshly at the bags beneath his eyes and tried to convince himself that the stinging he felt behind them was not the seething heat caused by unshed tears. He would not cry, not in front of Thráin. Never in front of Thráin.

"Perfection, I need, perfection!" Thráin shouted, and then choked a few times on his spit before laughing loudly and flinging his body sideways. The bed lurched and steel scratched across the tile floors harshly. For a moment Thráin fell quiet, and Thorin thought perhaps it was over. But no, all too soon the old man began to whisper under his breath. Thorin frowned and struggled to listen, then his eyes widened when he recognized the words.

"Frerin, Frerin, where's Frerin?" Thráin gasped and his son cringed and closed his eyes as he remembered his little brother's smiling face. Thráin had always loved Frerin, pushing him to study the sciences, despite his inclination towards more imaginative endeavours. Thorin was nothing in comparison, nothing but a disappointment, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how hard he pushed himself to maintain the business.

"The company, the company, must-," Thráin continued, and Thorin wondered what the people of Erebor must think of their family now, watching as this man fell from control and turned a powerful company into no more than a joke, while placing the blame on his son. The past few weeks had been a true test of Thorin's will, as he struggled to keep his father away from the business before he made a decision that truly would ruin them all. He did his best not to focus on the monetary reports, leaving those matters to his accountants while he dealt with his father's will and reconstructing the company's image. He'd even neglected his nephew, leaving him in the care of friends while he worked long days and sometimes nights.

"You!" Thráin shouted, and Thorin jolted against the wall, his eyes flying open in surprise. Thráin was looking at him, right at him, not through him or beside him as he had for the past few days. Thráin's eyes were focused directly upon his own, the older man's left arm extended from his body and seemingly reaching out towards his son. Thorin pushed gently away from the wall and walked slowly toward the bed across the way. He pulled nervously on his tie, loosening it in an attempt to ease his breathing. It was becoming a habit of his, yet another visible weakness.

"…F-father?" Thorin whispered hesitantly, and he slowed to a stop at Thráin's bedside. The two men stared at one another for a few moments, Thráin's eyes wide and bloodshot, and Thorin's nervous breathing loud and heavy in the sparse room.

"Fa-," Thorin began, but he gasped as Thráin's fingers reached out suddenly and gripped the collar of his shirt. The older man pulled his son towards him with surprising strength and Thorin grappled against the side of the bed in shock. Thráin leant to his side, and his breath was hot against Thorin's face as his reddened eyes narrowed terrifyingly. Thorin froze beneath his father's stare, and cringed as the grip at his neck tightened further.

"You…failure!" Thráin spat out, the liquid hitting the side of Thorin's face, the younger man flinching at the words.

"You…weakling!" Thráin continued, emphasizing his point with a tug at his son's throat. Thorin watched the muscles in his father's neck work as he spoke, and the sweat dripping down his sickly skin. His eyes grew blurry, the sting behind them worsening.

"You…you don't deserve my company, my wealth," Thráin hissed, shoving Thorin away violently while he thrashed about in his bed. Thorin staggered on the tiles and coughed a few times, reaching up to rub at his sore neck.

"Usurper!" Thráin shouted, the word echoing in the tiny room, and Thorin shivered at the cold tone of his father's voice. He tried to tell himself it was the madness talking, that the other man did not hate him so. But the intensity and clarity in his father's eyes made it difficult to believe such fanciful thoughts.

"Get me Frerin!" Thráin commanded, and he paused, gasping for air and hacking up bloody phlegm. Thorin shifted away unsteadily until his back hit the wall, and then he watched as his father coughed and doubled over on the bed. He could do nothing as the other man suffered and choked on his own air while his frail body finally gave way. He did not call a nurse, he did not try to help, and he did not utter a single word. He just stared blankly ahead. He was grateful, that his mother had not lived to witness her husband's madness, that Frerin had been spared seeing such a hateful man. And he was glad he'd had the foresight to send Fíli out in Dwalin's care, more so the boy did not witness Thorin's own weakness in the presence of his mad father.

"Fre-…Fr, ggh," Thráin uttered desperately before he fell back against the sheets, and his hacking faded until his body lay limply atop the bed. Thorin slumped against the wall, his arms falling listlessly to his sides as he eyed the still form on the bed across the room. It was eerily silent, with the absence of his father's rambling, and Thorin could hear each step in the hallway outside the door, each heavy breath that escaped between his lips. He could even hear the faint clicking of the hands on his wrist watch.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

The door shifted open next to him and he overheard the soft gasp that came from the nurse as she entered the room and took in his condition as well as the sight of Thráin's dead body.

"Mr. Durin! Are you alright?" the woman uttered moving towards him timidly as though fearful Thorin might lash out at her as his father had so many times before. Instead he barely acknowledged her. His mind was preoccupied by other things, like the cold sweat across his back and the disgusting feeling of his shirt clinging to his skin. Then there was the strange tenseness in his body and the feeling of his teeth grinding anxiously together. His throat was dry and sore, and Thorin blinked once, finally noticing the liquid that clung to his eyelashes shamefully. The nurse muttered a question towards him once again and Thorin flicked his gaze towards her, forcing the sheen across his eyes away as he focused on her worried face.

"I'm fine," he voiced scratchily, before pulling his jacket from the chair beside him and walking briskly out the door.

* * *

Bilbo peddled gently down the street listening as Kíli sang a silly tune from where he sat atop the bicycle behind him. Glóin had been nice enough to fix his bicycle and add a new little addition, a seat for Kíli, so that Bilbo could take him out on deliveries and errands. So far it was working famously, though Bilbo figured it would not be long before the boy grew out of the tiny chair. There was the matter of schooling as well, which he would have to face eventually, and Bilbo figured no teacher would accept a child that at the very least could not move around on his own. At least not at a school he could afford.

Kíli's voice hitched for a moment as the bicycle lurched over a tiny bump and Bilbo glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alright. The man had not missed the occasional slips in song throughout the ride, and he noticed the pain shining behind Kíli's bright eyes. Still the boy smiled at him and started singing again, and Bilbo did his best to avoid any extra bumps in the road in an effort to make the ride more comfortable for him. It seemed Kíli was still afraid to voice many of his complaints, even when he was visibly in pain.

Bilbo and Kíli had slowly started to grow accustomed to each other's company, developing a bit of a routine in the mornings and evenings. And Kíli was beginning to open up; to speak out when he had a thought or feeling, but there was much work yet to be done. Bilbo figured the boy would always be shy and tentative when it came to speaking, but he hoped that shyness might at the very least fade away around him.

They turned a corner and Bilbo peddled down a little dirt path, stopping his bike next to a billboard and kicking out the stand. There was a small park just a few feet away, old and decaying like much the rest of the area, but Bilbo knew there was at least one swing still intact and he hoped it was safe enough to use. It was one of many playgrounds that had been left to rot while select ones in prime areas near the outskirts of town had been cleared and rebuilt with plastic slides and jungle gyms. Bilbo would have loved to take Kíli to one of them, watch his eyes take in the bright colours, but the ride would be far too lengthy, and he feared the sight of so many children playing and running might discourage him more than anything else.

Kíli stopped singing and eyed the park with curiosity while Bilbo unlatched the faded green helmet atop his tiny head, yet another gift from their neighbours. Pieces of Kíli's hair clung to the foam as it was pulled from him and he playfully ran his fingers through it before patting the strands down against the braid behind his head. Bilbo smiled as he latched the helmet around the bike before lifting Kíli from the seat gently and kissing the top of his head. The boy giggled and Bilbo twirled him around before walking towards the playground.

"Where are we?" Kíli asked, his dark eyes looking at the site as they approached. There was a rickety structure, made solely from wooden planks and rusted metal. As a whole, the playground was very unsafe, the slide detached at the top and dented precariously in the middle. There was a large hole in the middle of one of the drawbridges, where it looked as though someone had taken a violent tumble through the planks at one point or another. Graffiti covered the remaining intact wood, and nails were scattered around, having fallen from their proper places.

Other parents might frown at Bilbo bringing Kíli to such a place, but there were few locations for fun in his neighbourhood, and when Kíli had asked him what exactly riding a swing was like, Bilbo was determined he find out for himself. The swings were unfortunately just as unkempt as the rest of the playground, one of them completely detached and resting on the ground, another hanging by a single chain. The third swing however still seemed solid enough, the chains rusty, but Bilbo tugged on them with one hand and they stayed strong. Kíli seemed apprehensive, his eyes looking up to where the chains fastened to the metal bar above nervously.

"You wanted to know what it was like to ride a swing, right?" Bilbo asked, glancing at Kíli before sitting him atop the rubber seat. Kíli's hands clenched to the man's shirt and Bilbo held him in place for a moment while he checked the chains more carefully. When he pulled away Kíli gasped and reached forwards to grip tighter, nearly falling from the swing from the action, and Bilbo braced him lightly before kneeling before him. He pried the boy's hands from his shirt and set them on the chains, looking encouragingly into Kíli's brown eyes.

"Hold tight, right here," Bilbo spoke gently and Kíli bit his lip and tightened his grip.

"Ready?" Bilbo asked, calmly moving to stand behind the child. He kept close, and held his hands at Kíli's waist, sensing the other's wariness.

"Don't be afraid, I won't make you go too high, and I won't let you fall," Bilbo reassured the little brunette, and finally Kíli nodded slowly. The first push sent the swing barely a few inches forwards, and Bilbo kept his hands at Kíli's sides the entire time. Still the young one's fingers tightened and he jerked slightly atop the swing, the tiniest of gasps escaping his lips. But Bilbo kept the small movements up, eventually easing the swing into a smooth repetitive motion, and Kíli's fingers gradually relaxed as he grew more comfortable with it. Bilbo pulled away, letting Kíli move back and forth on his own, only occasionally pushing him forwards to keep up the momentum. Soon Kíli was smiling and laughing as he got a hang of the balance, turning to look at Bilbo excitedly.

"It's like…like I'm flying!" he shouted, leaning back just a little in the seat. And though Kíli's legs didn't respond, and they hung from the seat like always, Bilbo thought in that moment he looked just like any other child, laughing and playing without a care in the world. Kíli held his body backwards just a bit further, his eyes connecting with Bilbo's as he moved. But the swing toppled and Kíli gasped suddenly, his grip slipping on the chains, and he nearly fell backwards to the ground.

"Woah!" Kíli shouted, landing in Bilbo's secure embrace and the man's amber eyes stared down at him worriedly.

"I've got you," Bilbo whispered, tugging Kíli close to his chest and waiting while he caught his breath. His legs remained caught in the swing awkwardly while Bilbo supported the rest of his weight.

"Thank you Mr. Bilbo…," Kíli muttered, once he was able, and Bilbo smiled at him and bent forwards to kiss his brow.

"Just Bilbo, Kíli, okay?" the man uttered, pulling away and looking him in the eye.

"You don't need to be formal with me," he insisted and Kíli glanced shyly to the side. Bilbo sighed lightly, and pushed Kíli's body up before lifting him from the rubber seat.

"Enough swinging for one day?" he asked, and Kíli nodded before they began making their way back to the bicycle. As Bilbo settled Kíli into his seat, the child looked at the billboard beside them, eyeing the brilliantly blue eyes of a handsome man with a stern but pleasant expression. He caught the glance Bilbo threw in the direction of the man's image as well as the grimace that passed across his features and Kíli frowned. Bilbo's face rarely held an upset expression, and though he often pouted or scrunched up his features while deep in thought, it was nothing compared to the seething anger that seemed etched in his features as he looked at the sign.

"B-Bilbo, who's that? Do you know him?" Kíli asked, stuttering over the older man's name and cowering slightly when Bilbo's angry gaze transferred to him. His eyes softened as they landed on Kíli and he offered a small grin in his direction before fastening the buckles of his own bright blue helmet under his chin.

"He's a bad man, Kíli," Bilbo spoke, reaching to unfasten Kíli's helmet from the metal bars. Kíli frowned and turned towards the billboard again, studying the features and pose, the fine suit, and the bold letters highlighted off to the side. There were some larger words, and after a few focused moments Kíli was able to read them.

_**Oakenshield Industries** _

' _Compassion. Innovation. Trust._

_Healthcare you can depend on. Join us as we evolve to create a better future for every citizen.'_

_-Thorin Durin, CEO_

"He doesn't look bad," Kíli muttered as Bilbo secured the tiny helmet atop his head. The boy looked upwards as Bilbo snapped the fastener together wondering what it was about the man on the sign that was so disturbing for his adoptive parent. Kíli saw only a kind face and a positive message. Bilbo however, saw much more, and he paused and took a deep breath while he decided how to explain.

"I'm going to tell you a story Kíli," Bilbo began, placing his hand softly beneath the boy's chin.

"A long time ago, there was a wonderful woman named Belladonna," he spoke gently, his voice more steady than he felt, and already Kíli watched him, completely enraptured by the tale.

"She was beautiful, kind, caring. She had a son, and she loved him very much," Bilbo smiled lightly as he recalled the way his mother radiated with happiness around her friends and family.

"She worked as a nurse for a large corporation called Durin Corp," Bilbo continued, his face falling slightly while Kíli's eyes widened and he turned to look at the billboard.

"That's the name on the sign! Thorin _Durin_ ," Kíli gasped, and Bilbo nodded at him, no less impressed by Kíli's keen eyes than ever before.

"The Durin family owned the big company, and they charged incredibly high prices for healthcare, prices that many could not afford. They paid their workers little, and grew richer each day while others suffered," Bilbo explained, and Kíli nibbled on his lip as he imagined the world described to him. It was not a difficult feat. Kíli had but to glance at the streets and homes nearby, or envision the deteriorating orphanage he'd spent so much time at to understand what it meant to be poor.

"Belladonna spent years helping others recover from illness, she never turned anyone away. Even when the people she worked for refused the poor, she would help them secretly; do what she could outside of work for anyone that came to her. And after so many years helping others, one day she grew ill herself," Bilbo voiced sadly, his eyes wet with unshed tears and Kíli clenched his fingers tight in the fabric of his shorts.

"She was…okay right?" he asked hesitantly, fearing this story did not have a happy ending like many of the others Bilbo often told him before bed at night. The man merely smiled painfully and continued his tale.

"She had little money, and struggled to care for her son alone. But with the high costs of her medicines and appointments, and the increasing days off from work, she found herself in a tight situation. Belladonna had to ask for help, from the people she worked for, to treat her. But they wanted more money. So she sold her house, and many of her belongings, but still it was not enough," Bilbo struggled to continue, knowing that Kíli was upset, but he needed the child to understand.

"Belladonna had barely a cent left to her name, and she could no longer afford to feed herself and her son. So she fed only her son and slowly withered away. And no matter how much she begged and pleaded with the Durins, they gave her nothing for free," Bilbo stated before securing the tiny belt on Kíli's seat.

"What…happened to Belladonna?" Kíli asked hesitantly, unsure if he wanted the answer.

"She passed away, in her sleep," Bilbo responded before turning away and sitting atop the bicycle. His posture was slouched and he breathed in and out unsteadily a few times, his hands resting lightly on the handlebars.

"And…her son?" Kíli probed with a shaky voice.

"He was sent to an orphanage," the man explained as he kicked the stand up, bracing a foot against one of the pedals.

"Like me," the boy uttered and Bilbo turned to look at him with worried eyes. But Kíli seemed less interested in his own affairs, still engrossed in the story.

"I-is he…alright?" Kíli queried, innocent eyes searching for at least some happiness within the tale and Bilbo chuckled softly.

"Yes, he is quite alright, and though his story is a happier tale, he is left with a sad one to tell," Bilbo admitted, looking into the boy's inquisitive stare.

"Were you her son?" Kíli blurted out, and Bilbo's breath caught in his throat.

"Yes," he whispered, before turning back around and pushing the bicycle forwards as he peddled down the dirt path. He spoke over his shoulder while Kíli glanced back at the billboard.

"You mustn't be fooled by false kindness. People wear masks every day to hide who they really are. Though Mr. Durin looks friendly at first glance, it doesn't change the fact that he owns a large corporation that refuses care to those that need it each and every day. His company has a new name, and he's the new owner, but it's no different than it was before," Bilbo insisted and Kíli frowned in confusion. He understood what Bilbo spoke of; for he was sure he'd seen it before. False kindness hidden in the eyes of men and woman that walked through the walls of the orphanage. In the words of the nuns that looked after him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder, as he gazed at the penetrating blue eyes of Thorin Durin, if the man behind the mask was good after all.

"Have you ever met the man on the billboard?" Kíli asked, gripping his seat as they strolled down the path.

"No, I haven't," Bilbo admitted, glancing back quickly, his eyes shifting from the large poster to Kíli, then back in front of him again as he steered around rocks and bumps.

"Then how can you be sure?" Kíli whispered. Bilbo heard the soft words, but he did not acknowledge them, unsure how to respond. How could he be sure? How could he tell Kíli to judge this man, based on the actions of others, based on appearances, when he taught Kíli it was wrong to do so every other day? Bilbo tried to ignore the urge to glance back at the billboard, but as they turned the corner his eyes betrayed him, slipping to the stern figure plastered against the sign. Even from a distance, the man's strong features managed to unsettle him, and he frowned, unable to place the nagging feeling in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts/comments, I love hearing from you all. And even if you just want to chat about general Hobbit things, I'm down for that too! Anyone going to Costume-Con 32 by any chance?


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! This has taken forever! But I finally managed to finish another chapter. A special thanks to a reviewer KardageeSama for reviewing each chapter of this not long ago. You had such kind words and it really gave me the push I needed to get working at it again. Also thank you to all other reviewers who've left me positive messages. I love hearing from you all! Going through my notes has been difficult, as I'm not quite sure where I intended to take some of the things I've written down. It'll take some time to organize the plot from here on out, but I shall do my best. I'm excited to continue this story. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Also, I painted a picture of Kíli as I imagine him in this story quite a while ago if you're interested! You can find it here: shinigami714.tumblr.com/image/77873261009

He was surrounded by a sea of black. Suits and formal dresses visible every which way. The sight was enhanced with bland black umbrellas that lingered in a constant state of flapping movement, unsure whether to remain open and catch the occasional drop of rain or to close and be done with it all. The sky was grey and ominous looking, as though it might burst and let loose a torrential downpour atop the people in the cemetery at any moment, but the clouds continued to hold their moisture tauntingly.

Thorin wondered what his father would have thought of the weather had he been there to witness it. There was a time he might have laughed heartily at the sky and the cheek of Mother Nature, but in his recent days, it would have more than likely frustrated him to no end. Thorin almost wanted it to pour, to drench his father's grave with acidic water and quicken the entire process of the funeral due to an eagerness to escape the rain. He felt a small amount of guilt at the thought. He was meant to spend the day remembering the good times. But it was very difficult under the circumstances. His father had planned out even his funeral from start to finish long before he passed, and the rigid ceremony and droning speeches of the minister ceased any happy thoughts that flickered into his mind. It felt like his father was lecturing him from beyond the grave.

Thorin had spent much of the day shaking the hands of people he couldn't care less about, listening as they listed names he'd surely forget not five minutes later. Most of the guests were there out of obligation, because it was expected of them, not because they actually cared about the loss of Thráin. There were few people left who did. The strangers wore fake smiles, their expressions moulded stiffly like they were sculpted from plastic, and their wandering eyes judged every movement he made.

He could see the press lingering around the perimeter of the cemetery; far enough away to avoid any real confrontation, but still close enough to be intrusive and impolite. They were waiting for Thorin to make a mistake, to lash out at someone, or sneer in their direction. Just a hint of an expression on his face and it would be plastered all over the papers the following day. He could practically see the headlines now, criticizing him for his similarities to his father, estimating how long it would take until he drove the newly dubbed Oakenshield Industries into the ground.

Finally the service finished, the minister offering a few concluding words. Thorin blindly tossed dirt atop his father's casket and threw away one of the flowers in his hands before silently asking Dwalin to watch Fíli while he took a moment to himself. He could still see the flashes of cameras following him for a few minutes, but he heard someone ushering them away as he travelled further into the cemetery to clear his mind. The trees grew thicker, the stones a little older as his feet treaded along a path he knew very well. Thorin fiddled with the flowers he still held between his fingers; glancing at the names he walked by.

Eventually he paused, staring at the stones ahead, better kept than many others nearby, but still lonely and desolate looking to his weary eyes. He approached his mother's grave first, settled beside his brother's and bent to place flowers at the base of each tombstone. His eyes lingered for a moment then hesitantly connected with the final monument.

_Dís Durin_

_Beloved Daughter, Sister, Mother_

Thorin's gaze darkened as he studied the last word before he stepped closer and placed a hand atop the rough stone. It was cool to the touch and Thorin felt his eyes growing wet. He glanced upwards, willing the tears away and blinking several times as he took a few deep breaths. He'd managed to survive the past three hours of his father's funeral service without a single tear falling, and the mere memory of his sister had his eyes burning and desperate to let tears escape. The final two flowers hung between his fingers limply and he bent and set them gently atop her grave. They stood out on the dark ground, the stark white petals easily catching the light.

He had failed her in many ways, but as he stepped back and eyed the trees surrounding the site he sighed in relief. At least he had given her a beautiful place to rest in instead of the monstrous stone tomb his father seemed so set on. She belonged amongst nature, in a peaceful place where the birds would flutter about above, and near the family she cherished so dearly.

"Will you ever forgive me my sister?" he voiced, frowning down at her name again. She would have scoffed at him, told him off for worrying so much, and smiled and thanked him for looking after Fíli. But Thorin knew he could have done better. And already Fíli was acting out through violence at school and home. Perhaps he should have listened to Dwalin and signed him up for some kind of team sport. It might help with the anger, but Thorin worried what Fíli might do to the other children if given the chance. He sighed and turned back towards the way he came. He'd left Fíli alone often enough in the days of late; he probably shouldn't have in such a sombre place.

His feet carried him back towards the lingering men and women, and he said words of goodbye and thanks to those he passed as he forced an emotionless expression back on his face. His ears perked as he heard shouting not far away and he just barely caught Dwalin pulling Fíli away from another boy. Thorin approached, noticing the blonde head of Thranduil's brat, Legolas, sporting a bloodied lip and glaring in his nephew's direction.

"Fíli! That's enough," Thorin spoke evenly tugging Fíli away from Dwalin as he knelt before him, offering his full attention to his nephew. He wiped the dirt from Fíli's suit and tugged his face up but the boy sneered and refused to meet his gaze. Fíli's face was unblemished but there were visible scratches on his hands and his hair was a mess and caked with dirt.

"You should keep a better hold on that menace, Oakenshield. How is he to ever take over the family business acting like a common street thug? Not that you'll have a business for much longer," a familiar voice sneered from behind and Thorin stiffened and stifled a groan. Of course Thranduil would be nearby. Thorin stood and turned towards the taller man as he held Fíli steady behind him. Thranduil looked haughty as ever, fingers gripping tight atop his boy's shoulders, his back straight and his nose nearly pointing to the clouds. Thorin wondered if the other man thought it made him look superior. To Thorin it just provided a better view of what little he had between his ears.

"You're not fooling anyone with all of those billboards and advertisements. Trying to separate yourself from your father's tyranny? Only idiots would buy into such tactics," Thranduil commented, pulling up his fingers to study his nails with seemingly great interest.

"That's not what I've heard; didn't you see the last issue of Time?" Thorin replied, feeling an immense amount of glee at the expression of distaste that passed across the other man's face.

"Thorin Oakenshield for mayor, a new era of healthcare, I believe those were the headlining words," Thorin continued, his lips rising slightly at the side in a smirk. Of course it was ridiculous, Thorin would never run for mayor, but the article had made him laugh for once, and feel a small bit of hope for his future. Thranduil scoffed loudly and looked back into his eyes arrogantly.

"It's laughable. You? A mayor? You'd only run this place further into the ground along with your company. Durin Corp will fall, and when it does, I will buy every last one of your dying clinics, and rundown buildings, and there will be one less competitor in my way. Greed grows like a plague among your family; it will corrupt you, if it has not already, and then what good will pleading with commoners for support do? You'll get no wealth from the 'people' of Erebor. You should have given up on this place long ago, placed your investments elsewhere," Thranduil spoke confidently, and Thorin's smirk fell away in an instant. He would not become his father; he would not succumb to madness and lose his mind to an obsession with wealth. Thorin tightened his grip on Fíli's arm and pulled him tighter towards his body for support before glaring hatefully towards Thranduil. He would never sell to Thranduil, not a single building, even if it cost him every scent of his inheritance to rebuild Oakenshield Industries into a better company than its predecessor.

"What makes you think I am the same as my father, what makes you think I'm interested in money at all?" Thorin asked and his eyes flicked to the side where a few members of the press had returned to capture photos of the drama. Thorin inwardly cursed and dreaded the articles that would litter papers in the morning.

"Because we're all after the same thing. Power. And money is power," Thranduil said almost regretfully. His eyes travelled to Legolas and he pulled a cloth out and wiped the blood from his son's face in disgust. Thorin could understand the desire for wealth on some level. After all he knew he needed to take care of Fíli, he never wanted his nephew to suffer or want for anything. And how else could he ensure his future without the wealth Durin Corp's greed had provided.

"The difference is, I have embraced it, and you have not," Thranduil admitted. Thorin looked down at his nephew as doubt began trickling at the back of his mind.

"It's only a matter of time until the people see your true nature, discover your dirty secrets," Thranduil murmured and Thorin raised his eyes in surprise. The taller man studied him curiously, his face devoid of intent for once. Then he approached, leaning to whisper in Thorin's ear.

"You should have accepted my offer, taken what little you could before you lose everything. If you're not careful that boy of yours will end up on the streets living off mice. Though I suppose he'd fit right in," Thranduil hissed, and Thorin struggled to steady his erratic breathing. The other man clearly knew something that could ruin him. He suddenly grew angry. What right did Thranduil have, mocking him at his father's funeral? Thorin pulled away with a growl, his grip tightening around Fíli's arm.

"Why did you even bother coming here today Thranduil. To rub another family member's death in my face?" he barked, his eyes filled with rage. Thranduil was frustratingly calm as he studied the dark haired man.

"What was it your father used to say? Appearances are everything?" the man murmured, straightening his tie as he spoke. Thorin narrowed his eyes before tugging Fíli along beside him and turning to walk away. His stride was hurried as he moved further into the cemetery again, beneath the cover of trees.

"I'm not the only one with eyes on Durin Corp. You have many enemies in this world, _Oakenshield_ ," Thranduil's voice shouted from behind him but Thorin refused to acknowledge him. He did not feel like thinking about what enemies he may or may not have. He was no idiot. He knew half the people that greeted him each day secretly wanted his business to fail, if only to further the gain of their own companies for another day.

He blindly strode down the pathway, Fíli scampering along behind him, until he was met once more with the face of his sister's tombstone. The sight of her name knocked the wind out of him as it always did, and his breathing slowly steadied as the scenery calmed him and settled his mind. He looked towards Fíli, suddenly noticing his shaking form and pleading eyes, and realised just how tightly his hand grasped the boy's wrist. Thorin let go in shock and watched as Fíli pulled his arm back towards his small body, rubbing at the reddened skin.

Thorin heaved a deep sigh and knelt before his nephew, reaching towards him with a gentle hand. He ran fingers through his nephew's golden hair and looked at him apologetically before tugging him towards his chest. Fíli's hands gripped the lapels of his jacket and Thorin rubbed his back soothingly.

"What have I told you about fighting, Fíli?" he asked calmly, looking over his nephew's shoulder, grateful that the cameras and press could no longer approach him.

"He started it," Fíli mumbled into his jacket and Thorin pulled back and looked into his startlingly blue eyes.

"And you know better than to follow," he scolded watching as Fíli again avoided his gaze shamefully. Fíli's lip trembled a bit and he sniffled a few times. The sound was loud amongst their quiet surroundings.

"'M Sorry," Fíli whispered, looking more downtrodden than a child ever should, and Thorin reprimanded himself as he noticed the still red skin around the boy's wrist. He had no right to scold him after treating him so poorly not moments before. He had no right to be angry with him when he'd barely spent a moment with him in over a week.

"I know things have been stressful for you lately. I've been too busy to spend time with you, and then your grandfather-," Thorin began, his voice cutting off as Fíli looked up at him determinedly.

"I'm not sad about grandfather," he insisted and Thorin raised an eyebrow.

"You're not?" he asked, watching as Fíli rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"He was mean, and he smelled like moth balls," Fíli stated plainly, his lips pursing as he grimaced at the memory, and Thorin burst into laughter. He stood and chuckled for several moments while Fíli watched him openly. Thorin ruffled his nephew's hair, his cheeks aching as they struggled with supporting his first real smile in days.

"I suppose he did smell a bit like moth balls," Thorin agreed and looked up at the sky. There were the barest hints of sunlight peeking out from behind clouds, though he still felt the occasional drop of water on his skin.

"He wasn't always mean. I wish you could have met him earlier," Thorin admitted, before he held out his arms and lifted Fíli on his hip.

"What happened to him?" his nephew asked, as they moved to stand closer to Dís's gravestone.

"He was blinded by his greed. He suffered many losses in life, and they changed him, changed his perspective on the world,"

"Losses…like mama?" Fíli asked tentatively, and his fingers tightened at his uncle's shoulder. Thorin paused a moment before he replied, knowing that Thráin was already growing sick with madness long before the death of Dís.

"Yes…like your mother," he said, knowing that she was still a loss, for all of them, and perhaps the final straw that turned his father into a true monster of a man. Despite the many events that his father lived through to change him, there were still things Thorin would never forgive him for. After all, Thorin had lived through many terrible things himself and he still held onto some sanity, for the time being at least. Thráin had been weak to let it control his mind in such a way, and too proud to ask for help instead of acting out in rage. It was a trait that Thorin shared as well, and it frightened him.

"Don't ever let me become like that, alright Fíli?" Thorin whispered into his nephew's hair, holding Fíli close. He refused to let himself succumb as his father had. Hopefully the future would prove better for Erebor. Perhaps he really could fix things, with the new direction he planned to take the company in. Ideally it would be successful enough to provide a happy life for Fíli, one full of joy and happiness instead of sorrow. Fíli wiggled his way out of Thorin's grip and looked sternly into his uncle's eyes, before grabbing Thorin by the beard and tugging sharply.

"I won't, I'll pull on your beard, and tug your ears until you come to your senses," Fíli insisted and Thorin's eyes widened before he chuckled and pried the child's fingers from his hair. He eyed his nephew curiously, noting the hint of pain that still remained in his expression.

"If it is not your grandfather, what is it that brings you such sadness?" Thorin asked. It seemed that his nephew was rarely happy, a frown more often on his face than the smile that belonged there. Fíli shrugged and looked away, watching a squirrel skitter up a nearby tree trunk.

"You'll think it's stupid," Fíli muttered.

"If it upsets you it can't possibly be stupid," Thorin answered quickly and Fíli looked at him, probing his eyes for the truth. The boy sighed dramatically and crossed his arms.

"My heart feels lonesome," he said, looking away again, but back when he got no response from his uncle. Thorin raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth rose just slightly.

"I told you you'd think it was stupid!" Fíli shouted angrily, his eyes wild and angry, and Thorin hushed him and set him down atop Dís's tombstone.

"I don't think it's stupid…I just…you're too young for such a feeling," he explained doing his best to remain serious while having such a conversation with a child. Fíli's legs dangled above the ground and he kicked them lightly against the front of the stone.

"Mr. Balin says you're never too young," Fíli spoke confidently and jutted his chin out daring Thorin to disagree.

"He does, does he?" Thorin asked and he watched as Fíli's expression morphed from confident to wary. Thorin bent down carefully and rubbed at his chin, pretending to think hard on the subject before responding.

"Well, Mr. Balin does know just about everything, I suppose he must be right," he affirmed, managing to get a tiny grin from his nephew. The two sat together for a few moments listening to the wind rustling in the trees. Fíli's fingers rubbed over the engraving on his mother's gravestone and Thorin busied himself with arranging the flowers at its base, unsure of what more he could say. As much as he wanted to help his nephew, there was little anyone could do to heal such an ailment, especially someone as emotionally dysfunctional as he was. Not even time had helped heal the damage done to his heart over the years. If anything the pain only grew worse with each passing day.

"You're not alone Fíli, I'm always here for you, okay?" he spoke calmly, trying his best to be supportive as he looked up at his nephew's sullen face. At least he could manage that. Fíli's eyes remained downcast but he nodded and Thorin reached to lift him from the stone.

"Uncle, why are there two flowers on mama's grave?" Fíli asked as he settled against his uncle's shoulder. The question caught Thorin off guard, like much of what his nephew said. Children were always so surprising and far more perceptive than expected.

"What do you know of her death?" Thorin inquired after a long pause.

"Grandfather said there was an accident," Fíli said, scrunching his eyebrows together distrustfully and Thorin grimaced at the word. An accident. Hardly. Though he supposed there were worse things Thráin could have said.

"Do you remember anything…different, about your mother at the time?" Thorin pressed, and Fíli struggled to create a clear image in his mind. His memories were very scattered, and though he recalled his mother's voice and general appearance nothing unusual or out of place stood out. Fíli shook his head drearily.

"You were quite young, when it happened. But she was with child, Fíli, you know what that means?" Thorin queried, and Fíli's eyes widened and he nodded.

"The other flower is for that child," Thorin explained sombrely, his eyes moving towards the stone. There were no words etched there in memory of a lost child, Thráin made sure of that. But Thorin knew, and he would never forget.

"He died?" Fíli questioned, his expression serious. Thorin opened his mouth to respond then glanced quickly towards his nephew in wonder.

"What makes you think it was a boy?" he asked, voice full of surprise. Fíli hummed and played with a button on Thorin's collar.

"I just feel like it was," he mumbled. Thorin shifted awkwardly, before taking a deep breath and patting down Fíli's messy hair.

"Yes, he died," Thorin uttered. The man took one last glance at his sister's grave and turned to walk back through the trees. They'd spent more than enough time in the cemetery for one day and such dreary conversation certainly was not making either of them any happier.

"Maybe that's why my heart is lonesome," Fíli whispered, looking back towards the flowers as his uncle led them away. Thorin frowned and held him just a little bit tighter.

* * *

The days passed by much quicker than Bilbo ever thought possible. It seemed an age ago that Kíli had come to live with him when in reality it had been just a few months. Bilbo found it took very little to keep the new addition to his home occupied and happy. Give him a book and Kíli would find a way to pass hours just sitting and learning. His favourites were about music of course, but Bilbo was surprised to find Kíli took interest in many other subjects as well, especially the stars. He loved stars, and often in the evenings Bilbo would open the curtains over Kíli's window so he could lie down and watch them before falling asleep.

Bilbo did the best he could to find more books on the subject, ones with plenty of pictures of the constellations, and detailed stories of the characters they were named after. Kíli loved the stories even more than the stars. Luckily Bilbo had connections. Bombur's brother, Bofur, and a good friend of Bilbo's, owned a quaint little antique shop in a nearby district of Erebor. It was on its last legs, like many other shops in the area, after all, antiques were hardly in high demand at the moment. But there were plenty of other surprises to be found in the store, knick knacks of all kinds, and a wide selection of used books. Kíli in particular loved visiting the shop, so Bilbo made a habit of dropping in once a week for tea. They would spend hours there and often Kíli came home with an armful of new books to flip through, much of the time free of charge.

"What's your favourite constellation Kíli?" Bilbo asked as he pulled the covers up to Kíli's chin and arranged some books on Kíli's side table. He'd need a bookshelf of his own soon to organize his gradually increasing collection. The brunette was looking out the open window with a smile on his face but he tilted his head towards Bilbo at the question.

"I like….all of them! But Orion is the prettiest. I can't see it now though, not 'til winter. But look you can see Pegasus out the window!" Kíli exclaimed before lifting his finger to point outside. He continued to tell Bilbo the story of how the Winged Horse came to be a constellation in the sky, and moved on to another almost immediately after.

Bilbo listened to the boy happily and smiled as he thought about the surprise he'd been working on all day. While Kíli spent much of the afternoon at their neighbour's house, playing with Gimli, Bilbo had set about decorating his charge's room. It wasn't visible, not yet, but he knew it would be in just a few minutes. Bilbo let Kíli finish up another tale before moving to the curtains and shutting them.

"I think that's enough storytelling for one night. Ready to try sleeping without the light on tonight?" he asked gently, watching Kíli play with the edge of his blanket nervously.

"Kíli, do you trust me?" Bilbo questioned and Kíli quickly nodded his head in response, though his fingers still clutched the blanket to his chin fiercely.

"Close your eyes," Bilbo spoke; smiling kindly, and Kíli bit his lip and scrunched his eyes tightly shut. Bilbo walked towards the door and flicked off the lights, grinning as he looked around the room cast in darkness for the first time.

"Okay, you can open them," He spoke. Kíli's lashes fluttered a bit and he slowly opened his eyes, blinking at his surroundings. Once his eyes adjusted to the lack of light they widened and he gasped loudly and sat up, throwing the blanket from his body. The entire room was lit with an ethereal shine, glow-in the dark stars decorating the ceiling in formations as close to actual constellations as Bilbo could manage. A few planets were mixed in along with shooting stars and spaceships, as well as the occasional satellite. He knew it wasn't completely accurate, but it was the best he could manage in one day with limited resources.

"It's…it's amazing!" Kíli shouted, raising his hands and spreading his fingers as he looked up at the ceiling in awe. Soon enough he was pointing at his ceiling as he often did the night sky.

"That's…that's Cassiopeia! And the Big Dipper! And, and…Orion!" Kíli rambled on listing the names of each constellation his eyes picked out from the stickers.

"I'm sure I've managed to miss a few," Bilbo commented, eyes roaming across his effort. He shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Kíli over to rest against his side.

"Anyway, it was time we really made this room yours, and when I saw these stickers, I just had to get them. Do you like it Kíli? I know your birthday is coming up soon…and well…it's not much but I thought maybe...," Bilbo trailed off, wishing he had been able to get more, to even wrap a few things for Kíli to open, but his thoughts were cut off quickly as Kíli wrapped tiny arms around his waist in a tight hug.

"Oh thank you Bilbo! Thank you! It's the best gift ever!" the child proclaimed, and all Bilbo could manage was a few stuttering sounds and a giddy smile. In no time at all Kíli began telling more tales of the stars and as the hours passed and Kíli's bedtime grew farther away, Bilbo found he did not have the heart to stop him. They chatted nearly until the sun rose for the next day, and not for the first time, Bilbo fell asleep beside his charge, his heart and mind at ease. Bilbo knew things would get more difficult, certainly problems would arise, and disagreements would be had. But for the time being, he chose to relax and enjoy the moment. His worries could wait, for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people are eager for certain characters to cross paths and finally meet, but I'm really trying not to rush things. This story is of course about their relationships, but it's also about quite a bit more. Let me know if you're still along for the ride! I miss all of you Hobbit fanatics!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took just a bit over a week. That's not so bad compared to five months or so! It's been a stressful week too, but I'm feeling pretty great now. I've done some more drawing as well, a Fiki Bofa comic which may contain spoilers for those who have not read the Hobbit novel. You can find it on my tumblr. I've decided to start working on a Fíli cosplay for the next film. Wish I had a Kíli to go see it with though! As always, thank you for all of the lovely reviews/messages/comments/favs, love you guys! Oh and KardageeSama: in answer to your question, I would love to draw more, are there any scenes in particular you'd like to see?

Thorin tried to remain calm as he eyed the current week's issue of Erebor Insider someone had curiously left upon his desk. He suspected his secretary, who seemed to think a little bit of neighbourhood news was essential if he meant to get to know the people and earn back their trust. But Erebor Insider? Everyone knew it was a bunch of drivel, everyone with more than air between their ears that was. But Galadriel seemed convinced it was necessary. ' _The people read it'_ , she insisted, and Thorin supposed that may be true, if by people, she meant grouchy old women with nothing better to do than whine while crunching on pistachios, and maybe teenagers looking for the latest gossip. He was almost certain she was punishing him. He knew she'd read it already, hell he'd seen the damn thing tucked under her papers since Monday morning, and now, here it was, in all its disgusting glory, his face plastered on the front cover nose to nose with Thranduil's. The headline was bold and took up most of the lower part of the cover.

_The Rivalry Continues_

_A New Reign of Terror_

It made him want to gag. Yes, she was definitely punishing him, as some sort of retroactive payback for so many years working for Thráin, perhaps. How old was she anyway? It was almost as if the woman didn't age.

Thorin sat down with a huff, his chair creaking loudly and his briefcase falling heavily to the ground beside it. He took a sip of his coffee, then another, before setting it down and pulling the magazine closer. His fingers toyed with the front cover and he considered just tossing the thing in the garbage.

"Oh to hell with it," he whispered, and then flipped through the first few pages of ads until he reached the featured article. There were several images from his father's funeral, as he expected, all captioned of course and a few pictures of Fíli fighting with Legolas, but most of it focused on the supposedly heated argument he'd had with Thranduil. Despite Thorin's best efforts to keep an impassive expression on his face the photographer still managed to capture a few shots that made him look like some kind of oppressive tyrant. He grew increasingly angrier as his eyes took in the words beneath them, proclaiming he was already following in his father's footsteps mere moments after putting him in the ground. Thorin did his best to remain calm, taking one more sip of his coffee, but in a matter of seconds he was growling out in frustration, crumpling up the page he had open, and tossing the whole magazine in the garbage. He heaved in and out for a bit, his eyes boring holes into the offensive thing until he caught sight of a pink sticky note poking out from the top.

_Read this! Or else!_

"Shit," Thorin muttered as he recognized the slanted, elegant scrawl of his secretary. How had he missed that? He reached forwards and pulled the magazine from the bin, skipping past the dreaded article and spreading open the page where the note peeked out. His eyes scanned across the headline and through the first paragraph.

_A New Business in Town!_

_Brimstone Enterprises is set to build a new factory in Erebor's city core at the old site of Alfirin Labs. The land, purchased just weeks ago by CEO Sebastian Smaug will be host to a large facility dealing in the mass production of several chemical based products. The company, established overseas nearly ten years ago, has allegedly become a huge success._

" _I look forward to investing in Erebor. There is potential there, for development. The factory will provide many new jobs for people in the core. It is my belief this is a mutually beneficial endeavour," Sebastian mentioned in a brief interview with our magazine. The factory is scheduled to finish building within three years, and will provide as many as 150 new jobs for citizens in the city. It is a large undertaking as much of the previous site must first be decontaminated and cleared away to make room for a new structure. Hiring however is set to begin far sooner, as early as within the year, so keep an eye open for future job opportunities!_

Thorin raised an eyebrow and looked towards the small portrait off to the side of the article. Smaug was a peculiar looking man, lanky and severe in appearance, with dark hair, angular cheekbones, and a penetrating gaze. The portrait made Thorin feel uneasy, and as he shifted in his seat he felt almost as if the man's eyes were following his every movement. Thorin sat back in his chair and observed the image curiously. It was a tad suspicious that anyone would want to invest in a place like Erebor, especially in such a rundown location. However, Thorin couldn't really complain, not if it would create jobs for people in the core. It was definitely something to keep tabs on. Perhaps his secretary didn't have it out for him after all. Thorin turned the page absentmindedly, wondering if there might be more images or information to follow only to find an article on the difference between soy milk and cow milk as well as the pros and cons of consuming both. He rolled his eyes and pushed the magazine to his side, jolting when the phone buzzed at him.

"Yes," he spoke shortly into the receiver and his secretary's ominous voice rang out in his ear.

"Your nephew's soccer league forms are due today. They're on your desk, don't forget to fill them out," Galadriel lulled.

"Oh, I see, thank you," Thorin grumbled, pushing things around on his desk until he found the forms and pulled them out from under the pile. His work area was an absolute mess. He hated it, but it was a side effect of stress. The more scattered his mind, the less he was able to control his own surroundings, and over the past few weeks papers and miscellaneous notes had piled up around him. He was about to hang up when Galadriel's voice sounded once more.

"Thorin," she spoke softly, and he froze in the midst of filling out his nephew's name, the receiver a few inches away from his ear. She paused for an unnatural length of time as he waited, hand hovering over the paper.

"Have a wonderful morning, and may I suggest using a new pen today," she voiced calmly, and shortly after he heard the phone click as she hung up. Thorin placed the receiver back in its place and eyed it oddly before glancing towards the pen in his hand. It looked normal enough, the newly branded Oakenshield logo half visible from the angle he was holding it at. Thorin shrugged and moved to fill in Fíli's information, but not two letters in the pen exploded shooting black ink out all over the forms, down his wrist, and onto his white dress shirt. Thorin gaped at the inky splatter blankly for a few seconds, his eyebrow twitching just slightly.

"Oh for…seriously?" he nearly growled, grabbing for tissues and tossing the pen and forms in the garbage. He shook his sleeve out and batted it dry the best he could, shaking his head all the while. The skin at his wrist would be stained and blotchy for days. It would be yet another thing for the press to speculate over. At least it created an excuse for him to clean his desk off. It was then he noticed the second set of soccer forms, stacked neatly off to the side of his desk, well away from the ink mess, as though Galadriel had known exactly what would happen to the first. Thorin looked towards his office door warily, narrowing his eyes as a shiver passed down his spine.

She was a _very_ strange woman.

* * *

Despite waking up Saturday morning feeling like he'd worked ten straight days in a row instead of his usual five, Bilbo still got to work around his house bright and early in the morning. There were things that needed doing, after all, and when one had a child to take care of much of it got left to the weekend. Kíli was busy in his room, scribbling with some old crayons and a stack of scrap paper, while Bilbo busied himself hand washing laundry, dusting shelves and sweeping up dirt that had sneaked its way inside his house. It may have been rundown, and old, but it didn't mean he had to let his home go. He'd keep it in the best condition he was able.

Occasionally Bilbo would peek his head into Kíli 's room just to say hello, and make sure everything was alright, but he had the walkie-talkie just in case, and Kíli had learned to use it if he needed anything in particular. After sharing some tomato soup with his charge, Bilbo jaunted over to Glóin's house to help his neighbour with a few fence repairs, figuring Kíli would be okay alone for a little while. Bilbo held the planks in place while Glóin hammered away and they progressed through much of the work within an hour. Kíli's voice would often chime in, singing little songs here and there, broken up just a tad due to the distance, and the two men laughed and sang along while they worked.

"Well, time for a break, I'd say," Glóin spoke, standing straight and stretching his back. Bilbo did the same, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was getting cooler outside, but fixing fences was hard work, and both men had broken a sweat. Bilbo looked down at the palms of his hands, eyeing the multitude of slivers sticking out from his skin. It would be another chore trying to get them all out. The two men sat down on Glóin's porch, nibbling on a few of Runa's biscuits and sipping glasses of water, talking for a few minutes. The sun was getting lower in the sky and they stood, ready to get back to work but as the two approached the fence the walkie-talkie cut in with a loud static sound.

"Fsshshhhhhh-B-Bilbo! Aa-ah!" Kíli 's voice cried out over the device, his words broken up a bit as though he was having trouble holding the button down. Bilbo's eyes shot up towards Glóin and he froze in place.

"P-please-elp! It hur-so much! Fssshhhh," it cut back in again and Bilbo in haled quickly and took off like a shot, running across the small yard and whipping through his front door, Glóin not far behind. He tore through the house, and threw Kíli's door open so swiftly it slammed into the wall on the other side. He stopped and looked for his child in a panic, and then Bilbo gasped as his eyes fell on Kíli. The boy was hunched over, tears streaming from his eyes as he struggled to hold in cries of agony. His hands were gripping at his bed sheets fiercely, and his teeth were bared in a pained grimace. Bilbo was at his side not a moment later, bending low and placing his hands on Kíli's face.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Bilbo nearly shouted, and Kíli struggled to open his tear filled eyes.

"I-I don't know…hic…I r-reached…sniff…f-for a book…and it hurts so much please," Kíli hissed, reaching up to grip a hand in Bilbo's shirt. The child recoiled at the pain such an action brought, however, and folded even further into himself.

"Should we call an ambulance?" Glóin asked quickly from his side, noting the panicked expression on his friend's face.

"It'll take an hour for one to get here! There's none in the core anymore!" Bilbo yelled, moving a hand to the back of Kíli's head when he groaned and trembled.

"Shit, I forgot that las' one got torched," Glóin muttered, rubbing at his face and heaving a few quick breaths.

"I can't afford a hospital anyway…Glóin, what should I do?" Bilbo begged the other man to come up with something as his mind was far to scattered to do so on its own. Glóin eyed him with wide eyes, and then looked towards Kíli as he let out a loud scream.

"Let's take 'im to my brother, I'll grab the truck! Quick, bring 'im out front!" Glóin answered, already jogging back out the door. Bilbo steadied himself and nodded at nothing. Óin could help. He was one of the few people in town that still had a clinic to help the poor. It wasn't an entirely legitimate business, mostly run under the table, with a few medicines smuggled from various places, but Bilbo didn't much care for legalities at that moment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before whipping into action. He quickly grabbed a quilt from the end of the bed and wrapped it around Kíli, cringing as the boy groaned painfully.

"Shh Kíli, it's okay, it's okay, I know it hurts, just hold on," Bilbo soothed, lifting the child gently as possible in his arms. He felt Kíli's tears seep into his shirt and grimaced as teeth bit into his shoulder. Bilbo ignored the pained screams, running through his house and out the front door. Glóin was revving his engine as Bilbo slid in the passenger side, settling Kíli in his lap.

"Common, common, turn on yeh darned piece of junk!" Glóin muttered, growing increasingly more frustrated with each passing second and he slammed his hands into the steering wheel a couple of times before trying again. Thankfully it kicked to life with a loud angry noise.

"About damn time!" Glóin shouted, reversing out of his driveway, his tires skidding as he turned and drove quickly down the street. The fact the truck still worked at all reflected on how good of a mechanic Glóin really was. It was old, and worn, pieces were missing, some stolen, but he still managed to get the thing running in an emergency. It was a rough ride, but it was certainly faster than walking, and Kíli was in no condition to go for a ride on a bike. Kíli's ragged sobs continued, and he twitched each time they hit a bump in the road.

"It hurts, it hurts," Kíli hissed, his eyes glazed over and his shoulders tense.

"Shh, shh, it's alright, you're going to be okay, we're going to a doctor," Bilbo whispered in his ear, while he rubbed hair from his tiny forehead and kissed his brow. The drive the few blocks to Oin's felt far longer than the few minutes it took. Glóin turned down the ragged alleyway and parked his truck sideways, blocking the entire passage. It was one of the worst places in town, just on the edge of the district of Moria. Graffiti was scrawled over nearly every surface, and Bilbo knew if Glóin forgot to lock his truck, it wouldn't be there when they returned. The two skittered down the darkened road till they reached a fairly uninteresting doorway with rusted hinges. Five knocks later and it opened, and then a stout man, hair greying at the edges, peered out at them. He had a hearing aid in his right ear, the product of a close call with a lab explosion many years prior.

"Glóin!" Óin observed; a shocked expression upon his face.

"What brings yeh here; it's an odd time of the week fer a visit?" He scrunched up his face inquisitively and turned his head to look at Bilbo, his eyes widening as he spotted Kíli trembling in his arms. He wasted no time, opening his door wide and stepping out of the way.

"Get 'im in, quick!" Óin ordered, and they all made their way hastily inside. Soon enough Kíli was face down on a padded table while the doctor pressed against his back, searching for anything amiss. Óin grumbled a bit and moved to a shelf, grabbing a tiny bottle and a needle while Bilbo sat by Kíli's head, doing his best to keep him occupied while the other man readied the injection. Kíli twitched and let out a strangled noise at the prick of skin, but soon after his eyes were drooping and his muscles relaxing. Óin continued examining him a bit more, asking the occasional question and Bilbo stuttered out answers the best he could. A few minutes later he pulled up a chair and sat beside Bilbo.

"It seems he 'as a lot of swelling across his spinal cord, I'm sure it's affecting the nerves, and mos' likely the primary reason behind his paralysis. The fact there's pain is actually a good thing," Óin mentioned, folding his hands in his lap.

"How can that possibly be a good thing," Bilbo asked, eyes glued to Kíli's tear stained face. His hands were absentmindedly playing with strands of the boy's hair.

"It means there's a possibility whatever's keeping 'im from walking could be fixed…," Óin explained and Bilbo turned his head towards him quickly, his eyes desperately hopeful.

"With surgery," Óin spoke again and Bilbo's face turned absolutely crestfallen.

"I…I can't afford that," he muttered, pulling his hands close to his body and fiddling with his fingers.

"I know," Óin droned, sitting back in his chair.

"Ain't no one around here 'could afford tha' kinda thing these days," he admitted regretfully.

"I'd love to do some x-rays so we could see exactly what's goin' on, but I don' have the equipment for that anymore," he explained, gesturing to their rather destitute surroundings. Óin's medicine supply had been dwindling for several years, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to find anything legitimate on the black market. His equipment was rusting and aged looking, all of it far outdated. He could have registered with Durin Corp years ago, but then his clinic would have been taken over, and his patients limited to those willing to pay the right price. It was a sacrifice he had been unwilling to make. And the result was absolutely zero funding, and an unfortunately illegal business.

The newly branded Oakenshield Industries was promising many things that had yet to truly take form. There were plans for new hospitals and clinics in more parts of the city, for cheaper and more affordable rates, but all of that took time and all of it would still cost more than the majority of people in the core could afford. Not to mention, there was no point investing in the core in its current state. It would be a waste of money, the place would just get trashed.

At current, there were few places one could go in Erebor to get any sort of healthcare for free. Unless one knew where to look. Realistically Óin knew his little underground operation would not stay afloat much longer, he could no longer fund it, and there were few people willing to donate. But he was hopeful, that the situation would improve before he had to shut down. His eyes studied his patient. He hated seeing children in pain more than anything else, especially when there was nothing he could do to fix the problem.

"For now, all we can do is our best to limit his pain," Óin spoke and he stood and opened a tiny closet. Several bins fell over as the door opened up, supplies scattering across the floor and Óin kicked them out of his way. He shuffled through the clutter and shook something large out of the mess with a sound of satisfaction.

"What's that?" Bilbo asked, watching as the other man dusted off the object and lent it against a cupboard while he shoved everything else back in the wall space.

"He needs a wheelchair. You can't carry 'im around for ever, it's not good for either of yeh," Óin explained, and he opened the object, righting it properly on the floor. It was then Bilbo noticed the wheels, and the simple shape of a seat. It was a bit rusted, like everything else, and the leather padding on it was thin and worn at the edges. It even sported several dents along the metal frames. There were loose straps hanging around the bottom of it, meant for holding legs in place, and it reminded Bilbo eerily of the tiny cart Kíli sat upon when they first met. But it was a real working wheelchair and it stole Bilbo's breath away.

"It's not high quality, but it's better than nothin'. It'll get 'im from A to B," Óin said, rolling it over to the table and Bilbo ran his hand across one of the large wheels.

"I…what do I owe you for this?" Bilbo asked. He knew, however much it cost him, he'd find a way. Surprisingly Óin just laughed softly and placed a hand upon Bilbo's shoulder.

"Don' be silly, Bilbo. You don' owe me a thing. It's my duty to help the injured, and your boy needs this more than anyone I've ever met before. Besides, you've always been there for my lil' dope of a brother," Óin joked and Glóin bristled from where he leant against the wall. It brought a hint of a smile to Bilbo's lips, though the worry remained visible in his eyes.

"And if he…if this happens again? If the pain keeps coming back?" Bilbo asked softly.

"It will come back. Tha' much is a given. But we can lessen it," Óin said, and he picked up a box from his countertop and passed it to Bilbo. Inside there were was a large glass bottle neatly set next to a syringe and tourniquet.

"Morphine…,"Bilbo murmured, reading the dark black letters ordaining the label on the bottle. He lifted it from the case and turned it, watching the liquid move inside.

"It's not easy to come by, and it's addictive, so only use it when he really needs it. Especially since he's just a child, it could hurt his growth. Here I'll show yeh how," Bilbo was no stranger to medicine, but he'd never given anyone an injection, not even himself, so he watched raptly as Óin prepared the syringe and pointed out the best places to insert it.

"He should know how to do it too, in case he's alone," Óin ordered, and Bilbo nodded as he put everything back in place inside the box.

"I'll teach him," Bilbo promised, a determined expression set across his features.

"I can give you these, mild painkillers, for those times he needs a little something. It's best to restrict 'is use of morphine whenever possible. Never use both at the same time, and make sure he only takes one pill," Óin ordered and Bilbo nodded along, taking the pills and adding them to the box.

"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, looking towards his adopted son sadly.

"I would recommend doing a series of stretches, several times each day. He'll get cramped sitting all day like tha', and since he doesn't use his legs, they are thin and lack muscle. They need to be moved, like this," Óin spoke, moving to stretch Kíli's legs, bending them first at the knee, then at the ankle.

"It might hurt a bit, but it'll help, in the long run," he intoned, and Bilbo helped with the other leg. Not long after Glóin took a sheet from his brother, outlining all of the stretches they could do, and gathered up the wheelchair and medicine. Bilbo again wrapped Kíli up in a blanket and cradled his sleeping body against his chest. Once at the door Óin reached out and touched Bilbo on the shoulder.

"Come back to me if yeh run out of morphine, or if he worsens," he spoke kindly, and he waited until Bilbo nodded in confirmation before opening the door. The drive home went by much quicker, despite the slower pace at which Glóin drove, and the heavy silence that lingered between them. Kíli slept soundly the entirety of the trip, and Bilbo watched him wearily. He should have known their little bit of happiness would be short-lived. It had seemed too easy, the way he and Kíli settled into some kind of perfect day to day routine. He had thought, for just a little while, that everything might turn out okay. That perhaps he truly could help Kíli live a…normal life. Bilbo glanced at the wheelchair settled between himself and Glóin, and knew, things would never be perfect. Kíli would always be different.

His eyes looked back at Kíli's relaxed features, the result of Óin's painkillers. Bilbo squeezed him to his chest just a bit and held back tears. He wished he could afford more procedures, and the surgery it would take to give Kíli the ability to walk for the first time. But all he could do was administer morphine and tell his son to act like everything was okay, like he could do anything when truly...Bilbo wasn't so sure anymore. He shook his head and watched the flickering streetlights they passed by.

_His son_.

It was not the first time Bilbo had thought of Kíli as his own child. He had only had Kíli for a few months, but…already he felt like family. Yes, Kíli was his son, no matter what, and Bilbo would love and support him through everything. He would never give up on him. Someday he would get him that surgery, no matter the cost, if it took his last cent, and selling everything he owned. He would save as long as needed. And until that day, he would encourage Kíli; make sure he never gave up on his dreams.

When Glóin turned the truck up his tiny driveway, Runa was outside waiting, grasping at the apron tied around her front frantically. She rushed over to them with a million questions on the tip of her tongue the moment her eyes caught sight of them.

"Where on Earth have you two been? Have you any idea how worried I was when you rushed off like that, without a word!" she nearly shouted and her eyes probed the two for answers.

"Shh, Runa, it can wait," Glóin spoke up for once, and Runa eased off, seeming to understand, then she watched worriedly as Bilbo carried his charge inside. Glóin helped unload everything else, and after making sure Bilbo was alright and Kíli was settled into bed, he left his friend alone.

Bilbo sat beside Kíli through much of the night, as he had so many nights already, occupying himself with learning the various stretches outlined on the pages Óin had provided him with. He sipped on some tea and yawned occasionally, but he refused to leave Kíli's side until he woke. Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, trying to ease the developing throb behind them, when he saw Kíli stir beneath his blankets. The boy made a small sound, scrunched his brow together and blinked a few times to clear his sight before he took notice of Bilbo sitting next to his bed.

"Feeling better?" Bilbo asked, leaning close to run his fingers through Kíli's dark hair.

"M-my head's all fuzzy…," Kíli whispered, his voice a bit slurred.

"But no pain?" Bilbo questioned and Kíli shook his head gently from side to side.

"Good," Bilbo expressed, relieved whatever Óin had done seemed to be working for the time being.

"Glóin's brother gave you something special today. A gift," Bilbo mentioned and he pointed towards the wheelchair that leant against Kíli's bedside table. Bilbo unfolded it and rolled it around a bit while Kíli watched, his drowsy eyes taking in the object curiously.

"What…is it?" he asked softly as Bilbo folded it back up.

"A wheelchair. You'll be able to get around on your own now," Bilbo explained, leaning over the bed and pulling the covers further up his son's body. Kíli's sleepy eyes looked up at him worriedly and Bilbo placed a hand gently on the side of his face.

"Don't worry Kíli, I'm always here if you need me. That's what these are for," he said, holding up one of the walkie-talkies.

"Thank you for using it today. I would have been outside for much longer if you hadn't," Bilbo spoke, his eyes filled with anguish at the thought. He studied Kíli's face, noting the trouble the child was having keeping his eyes open and Bilbo smiled gently and bent to kiss his nose.

"I have lots to show you in the morning. Get some sleep okay?" he murmured, and Kíli made the barest of nods, his eyelashes fluttering gently down. Bilbo left him with a yawn, and a soft-spoken goodnight, flicking the light switch off on his way out. Kíli's eyes had long since shut, and the room was shrouded in a sea of glowing stars for not a soul to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I've never taken a biology course in my life, so my medical knowledge is basically zero. If some things aren't accurate to reality, my apologies. I did my best to research things, skipping over scientific jargon and trying to make it understandable.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update wooh! It's a decent length too. I'm excited to finally feel like I can progress this story further. I've opened a society6 where I'm selling my artwork if anyone is interested: Society6.com/Melcolley. Also I'm working on a Fili cosplay! Very excited :).

The wheelchair was certainly an adjustment. Kíli found it difficult to move on his own, unsurprisingly, as the chair was meant for someone much larger, and he had very little muscle in his arms to begin with. Each day, after their now daily routine of stretching out the brunette's legs, Bilbo made a point of having Kíli attempt to push himself around. He could only manage a few feet or so at once, but it was a process, and hopefully in time the youngster would be able to move around completely on his own. The wheelchair did make things much easier for Bilbo. Kíli was growing, even in the short amount of time they had spent together, and though Bilbo could still lift the child, it was quite hard to carry him around for long periods of time.

After the first few days of initial adjustment, Kíli began to actually enjoy using the chair. It was comfortable, compared to sitting awkwardly on the ground or his bed all of the time, and he liked the prospect that someday he might be able to actually go places without the aid of another. The two modified it a bit, attaching the box that contained his emergency morphine so he would have it with him wherever he went, and adding a side bag to carry a few books along as well. Little Gimli thought it was fantastic, and he eagerly pushed Kíli around the yard the first time he saw his friend in the chair. For Kíli, the wheelchair was a completely different experience than his little red cart had ever been. It gave him freedom, and he didn't feel ostracized around Gimli or the neighbours on their street. His days began to fly by, filled with laughter and play, and Bilbo watched him with a hint of sadness in his eyes, knowing that it was not always going to be so easy.

The final days of summer were approaching. The days grew shorter, and cooler, and in the evenings Bilbo felt a sharp crispness in the air. It was an annual tradition for Runa and Glóin to host a barbeque in one of the local parks the last weekend before fall, and it was with a heavy heart that Bilbo rolled Kíli's wheelchair towards the event, a freshly baked apple pie in hand. Kíli was set to start school at the only elementary that would take him, and though the youngster seemed far more confident with his new found wheels, Bilbo couldn't help but worry. He wondered how many more days he'd have with Kíli, how long it might be before Kíli actually needed to use the morphine attached to his chair.

As the park came into view Kíli's eyes lit up with excitement and Bilbo all but forgot his worries, focused instead on the cheerful sight that greeted them. Glóin and Runa were busy getting food prepared, with the help of several other neighbourhood friends. Bombur was there, his many children running about and playing, along with Bofur and Bifur. Gimli ran over to them when he caught sight of Kíli, and soon the two boys were off, joining the other children as they played in the park. The place was normally so dreary, surrounded by rundown streets and abandoned storefronts, but on this one night each year, it was positively bustling with activity.

The food was fantastic, as always, and Kíli rubbed at his belly in a satisfied manner after scarfing down a piece of pie. As soon as Gimli finished his own sizable piece he grabbed the handles on Kíli's wheelchair and started pushing him down one of the dirt paths.

"Don't go too far!" Bilbo shouted after them, and the two waved back as they raced away from the crowd. Kíli giggled as Gimli made various loud noises, pretending the wheelchair was a racing car and the path was their track.

"Vrooooom, vroooom, pshhhhh!" Gimli buzzed and Kíli's laughter rang out around them. They twisted and turned until Gimli brought the chair to a stop at the curbside. The redhead collapsed on the ground nearby, catching his breath, and Kíli peered over at him with a giddy smile.

"So, what's it like bein' a race car?" Gimli asked, as his breathing stabilized.

"Awesome!" Kíli cried, his eyes alight with happiness and his mouth open in a broad smile. Gimli grinned back and sat up, looking across from them at the aging street. The pavement was breaking away in places, leaving several potholes around and Gimli kicked his feet out and dragged them across the rough surface. His eyes followed the road for a bit, and he looked over to where the street began its decline down a steep hill and headed into the centermost part of the city. The chain link fence was worn and pulled apart in several places and garbage blew across the road from an upturned trash bin. The boy eyed the slope in the street for a moment then turned to Kíli with a scheming smirk upon his face.

"Hey…wanna try somethin' fun?" Gimli asked, raising his eyebrows as he captured Kíli's attention. The brunette tilted his head curiously, waiting for more of an explanation.

"See tha' hill over there?" Gimli said, pointing to where the road began to disappear from their sight, and Kíli nodded interestedly.

"I go down it on me bike all the time, it's a blast. I bet you could go real fast!" Gimli suggested, and he ran his fingers over one of the rubber tires on the wheelchair.

"Wanna try it?" Gimli asked eagerly, and Kíli glanced towards the slope and bit his lip nervously. The brunette had barely nodded his head and Gimli was up and pushing him over to the top of the hill, his energy seemingly restored. The two paused at the top and looked down the street together. There was a single parked vehicle at the side of the road near the bottom, missing its two front wheels, but other than that the street was eerily silent. Even from the top of the hill it was clear most of the stores on the street were out of business, the windows boarded up and covered in graffiti.

"Ready?" Gimli asked, his hands on the back of the wheelchair, ready to give it one last push. Kíli felt his stomach tighten up and he shook his head warily.

"I dunno, i-it looks really far," Kíli mentioned, his fingers tightening against the armrests.

"I swear, it's loads of fun!" Gimli urged as he remembered the last time he'd whirred down the street on his two-wheeler. It was definitely a rush. Kíli shifted awkwardly in his seat as he fiddled with his shirt sleeves.

"O-okay," he finally stuttered. Gimli whooped in excitement and gripped the handles on the wheelchair tightly. He rocked it back and forward slowly and Kíli tensed in preparation.

"Three, two, one, go!" Gimli shouted, giving the chair a final push and letting go. It moved slowly at first, just over the edge of the slant, and Kíli's eyes widened in fright. Suddenly it was off, speeding down the street and Kíli's scream rang out and his eyes squinted shut as the storefronts whizzed by. His heart was pounding in his chest as the chair creaked and groaned over the unsteady asphalt towards the bottom of the hill. It was only then that Gimli realised Kíli didn't have any way of breaking.

* * *

Bilbo savoured his last bite of pie as he chatted with Bofur about the new developments planned for a factory in the core. The two were quite animated, discussing the possibilities it held for the future, though Bilbo figured there was little that could really be done to fix up the worst parts of the city. He hoped it might bring a bit more policing to the area, perhaps help clean up some of the crime, and stop the theft that often occurred in the alleys. Maybe those most in need could find jobs. Although it would be several years until anything was finished.

The honey eyed man sat back in his chair, stretching as he turned to look the way Kíli and Gimli had run off. He relaxed slightly when he saw the two, far away, but close enough he could keep an eye on them. Bofur asked him a question and Bilbo nodded unconsciously, his gaze following the children as they moved into the street. His eyes narrowed as he watched the two boys approach the dip in the road, then widened as he saw Gimli push Kíli over the edge. Bilbo flew up out of his seat, nearly tripping over the wooden bench before he ran across the grassy park in a rush.

"Bilbo?" Bofur's concerned voice followed him, but Bilbo did not respond, his eardrums pounding as his heart rate increased. He heard Kíli's scream, and picked up his pace, the dried grass crunching beneath his heavy footfalls. He skidded to a halt at the top of the hill, and Gimli looked up at him with a startled expression. Bilbo's eyes were focused elsewhere however, as he watched Kíli's chair roll to a stop near the bottom of the hill. He let out a relieved sigh, but stormed down the street hill immediately after, Gimli hot on his heels.

"Kíli!" Bilbo shouted as he approached the brunette and Kíli's head flew in his direction, eyes wide open and mouth agape.

"Don't you ever do something like that again!" Bilbo seethed, his arms flailing at his sides. He bent forwards before Kíli and placed his hands on the arms of the wheelchair, the anger visible in his eyes.

"Do you understand me? That was completely reckless! What on earth were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" Bilbo scolded the child, and Kíli sat frozen, his dark eyes taking in the man's every action. The boy blinked back tears, his lashes clumping together as he swallowed fearfully.

"I…I'm sorry, please don't send me back!" Kíli stuttered, his fingers clenching in the legs of his pants. His heart was still beating fast from the rush of the hill, and his breathing came in quick short gasps.

"What?" Bilbo exclaimed as he watched Kíli crumple into himself. The boy's eyes slipped away and he lowered his head, sniffling as tears rolled down his face. Bilbo's heart seized in his chest and he tightened his fingers around the chair before crouching in front of the child.

"Kíli, look at me, look at me right now," Bilbo commanded, and Kíli's face slowly lifted, his red rimmed eyes warily opening to connect with the man's fixed gaze.

"I would never send you back, never," Bilbo promised, his voice steady and his expression serious. Kíli seemed surprised as he rubbed tears from his splotchy face.

"Do you understand me?" Bilbo asked, his voice much softer than before. Kíli nodded hesitantly and as more tears left his eyes Bilbo moved his hands to settle on the boy's face, running his thumbs gently up and down.

"You are my family now, okay? You don't discard family, you hold on to them, support them, through thick and thin," Bilbo explained, and Kíli latched on to his every word.

"I may get angry at you from time to time, and I'm sorry if I scare you. But it's because I care. You frightened me today Kíli. I thought the worst," Bilbo whispered softly. Kíli blinked and looked away for a moment, but his eyes moved back when the man continued speaking.

"I give you as much freedom as I can, because I think it's good for you to explore, to learn, but that means I need to trust you. I need to know you won't put yourself in danger like that again…if you had fallen, if you'd gone off the street and been hurt, or if a car had come…," Bilbo trailed off and he felt his own eyes growing wet with unshed tears. He lent forwards and brushed a kiss across Kíli's brow holding him close to his chest.

"Promise me you won't be so careless," Bilbo requested and he felt the frantic nodding against his shoulder as well as the damp feeling that came from Kíli's tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the brunette mumbled into the man's shirt and Bilbo squeezed him tightly.

"I would never, ever get rid of you. You're my son, Kíli, and I love you so very much," he admitted, and Kíli pulled away, looking at the man with wide eyes. Bilbo smiled at him and looked him over worriedly.

"Are you alright, are you hurt anywhere?" he asked, and Kíli shook his head slowly, still staring at Bilbo with awe. The man unlatched the straps about Kíli's legs and pulled him from the wheelchair, hoisting him up on his hip. It may have been more convenient pushing the boy around, but that didn't mean he couldn't carry him every so often. And as Kíli's arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly, Bilbo knew it was a much needed comfort. The brunette's breaths were still coming fairly quickly and Bilbo rubbed his back in a soothing manner before he stood and began making his way back up the hill, pausing before Gimli with a stern look upon his face.

"Gimli, if you ever put my son in danger like that again…I will…I will be very upset!" Bilbo voiced firmly, unable to come up with a suitable lecture on the fly, but the young lad still flinched slightly at the tone. Gimli looked back and forth between Kíli and Bilbo anxiously, frowning when he noticed the way his friend's frame shook ever so slightly.

"I won't, I swear it," Gimli promised, his face dropping in shame, and as Bilbo strode away towards the park, the redhead folded up the wheelchair and followed along, a determined expression set across his features.

* * *

_His surroundings were a blur, and Fíli squinted at the tall figures that swarmed around his frame. They were dark, unrecognizable, and if it hadn't been for the red eyes and bared teeth on each one, he might have thought them nothing but shadows. They whispered things, terrible things. They argued, about his worthlessness and growled at him angrily._

" _He's nothing but trouble," one figure hissed from his side, and Fíli flinched away only to back into another._

" _Problematic, should send him away," the form raged, long claw like fingers pushing Fíli's body away._

" _Get rid of him!" One of them growled, and Fíli whimpered, crawling into a ball on the ground. He could feel them circling him, the claustrophobic feeling taking over his mind as the figures brushed against him and scratched at his shoulders. He shouted and looked up in fear, and each figure mutated, turning into a more recognizable form._

" _Useless boy," it was his grandfather this time, leering at him, with a sinister grimace upon his face. Fíli gasped and turned around, but the man was everywhere, rotten and decayed, following him through the darkness. Fíli recoiled as a hand reached out and gripped the front of his shirt, and he gasped as the face morphed until he recognized his uncle's disappointed gaze. Fíli's eyes blew open impossibly wide as Thorin growled at him, and lifted his body from the ground._

" _Good for nothing," the man jeered, and as Fíli glanced down he noticed he was dangling above a bottomless pit. He clung desperately to his uncle's arm, his fingers slipping in the cloth about his wrists. But Thorin ignored him, and moments later, his eyes flared a vibrant red and he threw Fíli down into the darkness. He screamed, looking up at the fading man in terror and his heart pounded as he fell, and fell, and fell…_

Fíli choked on air and startled awake, catching the silken sheets on his bed about his legs. He scrambled around atop his mattress, throwing blankets away, and pushing up against the headboard as his eyes flew about in fear. He steadied his breathing, whimpering slightly as he took in the dark room around him. Shadows inched across the floor, and Fíli eyed them nervously, and then jolted as a tree tapped up against the large glass window to his right. He blinked tears from his eyes, and lunged towards his bedside table, clutching his wooden music box tight to his chest. Fíli shivered as he took in the hanging spaceship above his bed, and he twisted the key on the box in his hands. The melancholy tune rang out around him, and his fingers tapped against the wood anxiously. For once the song did little to settle his nerves, and he swallowed thickly and inched towards the side of his bed.

He looked at the ground over the side of his bed warily, and fumbled the box in his hands when he heard a distant creak in the house. Fíli squeezed his eyes shut and hummed along to the music, before he urged himself to continue. His feet sank into the plush carpet and he stood on unsteady legs, walking slowly towards the slightly ajar door and out into the hallway. The distance seemed far too great as he looked down the ornate hall. The ceilings were intimidating, so high above, and the window at the end cast an eerie glow across the wooden walls. He took his first step, twisting the music box again, and fumbled along until he reached the door at the end of the stretch. The handle creaked as he turned it and he pushed the door open just barely, only enough so he could peek through the crack inside.

Thorin was asleep; his form barely moving atop his bed beneath the covers, and Fíli swallowed then entered the room as quietly as possible. The music box was still playing however, and as he approached his uncle's bed, the man groaned and rolled towards him, rubbing at his face wearily. Fíli nearly turned around then, terrified that he was only bothering the other man, but Thorin's eyes opened and met his before he was able. Fíli was relieved to see they were blue, and not the violent red he'd seen in his dream. The blond toyed with his music box as Thorin blinked at him a few times, and as the music came to a stop only his sniffling echoed through the room.

"Fíli?" Thorin's voice was muffled from sleep, and he lifted himself up slightly and propped his head up against his arm, squinting slightly at the boy standing a few feet away.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his eyebrows frowning as he took in his nephew's shaky appearance.

"I had a nightmare," Fíli murmured, and he eyed the man with apprehension. Thorin looked back oddly, waiting awkwardly for the boy to elaborate, but no explanation came and he glanced towards the alarm clock on his side table. Fíli followed the movement and lowered his eyes as he saw just how late it was. Nearly three in the morning. His nose tingled and he felt more tears forming as he glanced back towards the door.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Thorin's voice startled him, and Fíli blinked at his uncle for a moment before shaking his head furiously. He clenched the music box so tightly that his fingers were turning white. Thorin shifted atop the bed and lifted up the blankets, offering a little space for his nephew to fit into and he beckoned the other nearer.

"Come on, come here," Thorin spoke, and Fíli stumbled towards him. He crawled up on the bed in a hurry, leaving the music box atop the bedside table, and huddled against his uncle's side. Thorin lowered the blankets atop him and pulled him close, startling when he noticed the way Fíli's shoulders trembled slightly. The boy was crying, and Thorin held his hand above his blond locks hesitantly. He wished he knew how to help. The man's fingers found their way into Fíli's hair, stroking his scalp gently. He listened to his nephew's muffled sobs for a few minutes and resigned himself to a night of little sleep.

"Is it soccer? Are you not liking it?" Thorin asked calmly, doing his best to coax the boy to talk. He'd been to see his nephew play a few times, though he couldn't always make it to his practises and games, and Fíli seemed to enjoy at the very least kicking the ball around. He seemed more focused when he played, but the coach had mentioned there were a few problems with the other children.

"No…I like it," Fíli murmured, but his hands clenched in Thorin's night shirt and he looked up at his uncle and opened his mouth almost as though he meant to say more. Fíli closed his mouth and frowned, before burying his face once more.

"But…," Thorin trailed off, and he waited patiently for an answer.

"No one likes me," Fíli responded after several moments. Thorin backed away slightly and pushed his nephew's hair aside, looking at his dejected expression.

"The coaches say you're really talented," the man argued but Fíli shook his head angrily.

"It's not just soccer…nobody likes me, nobody," he insisted, refusing to look his uncle in the eye. Thorin knew Fíli was having difficulty making friends, and perhaps frustrating his teachers every now and then, but he had never thought his nephew cared much for the attention of others. This was the first time he seemed truly upset that others distanced themselves from him.

"I like you," Thorin voiced without much thought. He meant to cheer the boy up but instead Fíli scrunched up his face and turned away.

"You think I'm troublesome," Fíli spat out, and Thorin was struck silent. He'd often spoken such things to Balin and Dwalin as they discussed his nephew. He had no right to deny such an accusation. Fíli's shoulders began shaking again and Thorin heard him sniffle then saw him wipe his nose on the bed sheets. He grimaced in disgust, knowing he'd need to send them to the wash in the morning. The pause was long enough for Fíli to grow more distressed however, and Thorin's eyes widened when his nephew broke into full on sobs.

"Y-you hate me," Fíli grumbled, and he pulled a hand towards his face and nibbled at his thumb. All thoughts of dirtied sheets left Thorin's mind as he took in the troubling sight. He couldn't even manage to string a sentence together, so startled by his nephew's words.

"…What?" Thorin whispered in disbelief.

"You hate me I know you do!" Fíli shouted and when he looked at Thorin his eyes were stony and his face was a mess of tears.

"That is not true!" Thorin bellowed back, but he calmed when he saw his nephew flinch and his eyes flash with fear. Thorin took a few deep breaths, and sat up, fully awake. He ran his fingers through his tussled hair miserably and withheld the urge to sigh.

"Who told you that? Was it in your dream?" Thorin asked, watching the other shakily nod into the blankets. Fíli was always trying so hard to put on a strong front, to pretend he wasn't bothered by anything, but in that moment, all Thorin saw was a scared little boy. A boy in desperate need of friends and family. He was reminded of the way Frerin used to cling to him in his early years, back when Thorin was responsible for taking care of him, their parents often preoccupied with other matters. Now he was responsible for another child, though one much more lost in the world. Thorin's gaze softened as he watched the boy sniffle some more. No child deserved such unhappiness. He may not be the best candidate for a father figure, but surely he could at least bring Fíli some joy in life. And besides, Fíli was his family as well, his only family. He decided the best course of action was simply to tell the truth. Fíli was smart enough to spot a lie anyhow.

"You are the most important thing in my life," Thorin admitted, his eyes lingering on Fíli's form. The boy stilled, his sniffles ebbing for a moment, and he turned his head slowly to the side.

"…More important than the company?" Fíli whispered gently. His eyes bored into Thorin's, judging the man's every movement and expression. Thorin smiled at him kindly, he didn't have to fake it.

"Of course," he spoke, and he lay back down and settled on his side, looking at his nephew seriously.

"It is true that sometimes you can be a little troublesome. You get in fights with other children, and sometimes you're too smart for your own good, but I would never hate you. You're…like a son to me Fíli. And I'm not a good parent, but…I love you, even if I don't always show it," he confessed. Fíli stared at him, nibbling occasionally on his lower lip, and Thorin waited patiently for his reaction. The boy's hand inched closer, until it clenched in his uncle's shirt, and Thorin grabbed his nephew and tugged him into his chest.

"Fíli, I'm sorry…I've not been…there for you very much," Thorin whispered, pressing his face to Fíli's blond hair. He'd been so caught up in his efforts to rebuild Oakenshield Industries that he'd continued to neglect his nephew. He needed to balance work and home better. Fíli needed him.

"I want to be. I want to be someone you can trust, rely on, confide in when you need to," Thorin continued, and Fíli crawled atop him and rest his head beneath the man's chin.

"I do trust you," Fíli muttered, snuggling closer, and Thorin wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his head. He stared at the ceiling, feeling for once that he was actually connecting with his nephew. It wasn't so hard, really, he just had to…actually talk to him, stop putting up that cold front that was so characteristic of…Thráin. No. He couldn't be like that, not with Fíli.

"Would you like to start coming to more meetings with me? Learning about the company?" Thorin asked sporadically, and Fíli lifted his head in surprise. The blond looked positively enraptured by the idea. His eyes were wide, and he was grinning from ear to ear. It was the first time in a long while Thorin had seen his nephew so happy.

"Can I?" Fíli asked, and the excitement was audible in his voice. Thorin found himself grinning back and feeling lighter than ever despite his lack of sleep and the late hour.

"Only when you don't have classes, or soccer, and you have to be on your best behaviour," Thorin said sternly, though his expression was warm.

"I will!" Fíli gushed, and Thorin couldn't resist reaching out to tickle his sides. The blond giggled as Thorin squeezed him into a long hug. Fíli blinked up at his uncle when he flicked his nose gently.

"Now get some sleep," Thorin ordered, and Fíli smiled at him, but stretched and closed his eyes. Even as he started to slumber, the smile remained visible on his face. Thorin glanced at the clock and sighed. It was awfully late, and to be honest, he didn't really want to get up in just a few hours. When he glanced at his nephew one last time he made his decision. Balin wouldn't mind if he took a sick day, surely the company could survive one day without him, and besides, he needed to spend some time with Fíli. Maybe they could attempt to cook something together…pancakes perhaps. Fíli liked them for some reason. Thorin grimaced as he recalled the last time he had attempted to do any cooking. It was…an absolute disaster. But it might be worth it to see his nephew smile again. Thorin twisted slightly, making sure not to startle the blond sleeping against his chest, and reached out towards the music box on his bed side table. He twisted the key and listened to the music fill the room. It seemed less sombre than usual for some reason, and he felt himself relaxing as the melody soothed his soul. For once, Thorin felt as though he'd done something right.

* * *

Kíli hated school. He wanted to go home. The teachers didn't care for him, and the looks they directed at him reminded him so much of the way adults had visibly judged him at the orphanage. They doubted him, thought he was incapable of learning just because he couldn't move like the other children could. His classmates were even worse than the teachers. He didn't know any of them. None of the neighbourhood children were in his grade, and many of them went to other schools, the ones that wouldn't take a disabled child. Even Gimli went to another school, and Kíli wished he could have gone with him, but the bus the redheaded boy took wasn't suited for wheelchairs. The kids at Westfold Elementary made fun of him during the recess breaks, and isolated him during lunch, stealing his snacks and mocking his wheelchair. He suffered through the first few days of classes, struggling not to cry as Bilbo sent him off on the worn down bus he had to ride each day.

This day was no different than the days before. Not long into his lunch break some of the boys from his grade gathered round him, and pushed his chair away into the empty playground behind the school. There was little he could do. Kíli barely managed to push himself around, how was he to fight off so many others? He was laughed at and bullied from his seat, and he cried as some of the kids took his chair from him. They dragged him beneath the broken metal slide and left him there alone. Kíli felt tears come to his eyes as he heard the bell ring, signalling the end of lunch. The teachers would be mad at him and they'd lecture him for missing class, but as he sat up his back ached so much he could barely move. Bilbo had taught him how to take the pills, but they were gone, along with his wheelchair. Tiny droplets fell down his cheeks and he rubbed them off on his sleeve in frustration. He plucked at a few of the stones beneath him and pushed them around, setting them out into shapes. It helped distract him for a few minutes, and soon he had several constellations mapped out by his side.

Kíli startled when he heard shuffling footsteps in the pebbles just beside the slide, and he eyed the shadow that passed by. He paused for a moment, not sure what to do, but maybe it was someone that could help.

"H-hello?" Kíli stuttered, hoping for the best, but he tensed when a boy about his age bent low and peered at him with wide eyes. He had an unusual haircut, ragged and cropped at an uncooperative length, and four braids were tied off with different colours of elastic bands. His sweater was baggy and well worn, as though it had belonged to another before him. He looked nervous, and as he bent low and slid beneath the slide, he brought a finger to his mouth to chew on a nail.

"Hi," the boy whispered, so quiet Kíli barely made the word out. The brunette stared at him and didn't say anything in response, but eventually the other boy moved a little bit closer, his feet scratching against the ground.

"I'm Ori," he said, picking at his sweater sleeves idly. Kíli finally recognized him as one of the children from the next classroom over. He'd seen him in the halls, but never spoken with him before; they were even in the same grade.

"What are you doing here?" Kíli asked, honestly confused. The lunch bell had rung several minutes earlier. All of the students should have been back inside. Ori huddled into himself a bit and squeezed his arms tightly about his body.

"I…I lost my notebook," he mumbled uncomfortably, and the two sat beside each other immersed in an awkward silence for a few minutes. Kíli's attention went back to his rocks, and he pushed them into a few more shapes at his side.

"…Is that the big dipper?" Ori spoke up, and Kíli glanced at him in surprise. He nodded and gaped at the other boy as he moved even closer and began laying out some rocks of his own.

"There! A little dipper to go along with it!" Ori exclaimed, a shy smile upon his face, and Kíli grinned back happily.

"I'm gonna be an astronomer one day," Ori spoke proudly this time, with a touch more confidence, and Kíli nearly began telling him of his own dreams, to play the violin on stage. But the mere thought wiped the smile off his face and he looked towards the stones with a frown.

"You shouldn't stay with me, people don't like me, and then they won't like you," he warned, his fingers picking at pebbles in the little dipper's tail.

"I like you!" Ori squeaked and Kíli looked at him like he was insane.

"I-I can't walk…," he mentioned hesitantly, and he waited for the moment when the other boy would realise just how worthless he was. But it never came. Ori was looking at his legs oddly, but not in disgust. He seemed almost curious and his fingers even reached out to touch them. Kíli watched the other boy lift up his pant leg and poke at the skin, before sitting back on his haunches.

"Then, neither can I," Ori claimed, and soon he was seated right beside Kíli, the two propped up against the underside of the slide. They sat together for quite some time, drawing things in the dirt and placing pebbles into shapes. Ori knew lots of interesting things, about space, and the planet, and Kíli figured he learned more from him than he would from any stupid teacher at their school. It was a long while later when the two boys were found, and still Ori refused to stand up, not until Kíli's wheelchair was found and they could walk away together.

* * *

Each morning Bilbo regretfully watched as Kíli boarded the small handicapped bus for school. The first day wasn't so bad. Though Kíli was nervous about leaving the neighbourhood for the day, he also seemed at least a little bit excited at the prospect of learning new things. But when Bilbo greeted him in the evening Kíli was morose and quiet. He barely spoke, and Bilbo had to work extra hard just to get him to smile and eat his dinner. He dreaded the next day, and waved at Kíli, watching him through the window on the bus, and he stood by until it disappeared down the street. The few evenings following were no different than the first, other than the fact that Kíli was even more depressed. He became more unresponsive, until finally one evening the boy burst into tears with little to no explanation.

When Kíli begged him the next morning not to send him off, Bilbo almost let him stay home. But he knew the boy had to go to school. So he encouraged Kíli and reassured him that his day would go well. He told him to smile, and lift his chin up. He told him he was brilliant and wonderful, and asked him to give it just one more shot. Kíli stifled his tears, and stopped arguing, but he looked distraught as he waved out the bus window and Bilbo nearly rode his bike to the school that day just to check in on him. But work proved busy and full of deliveries, and he had little time to spare. Bilbo had to rush just to make it to Kíli's bus stop in the evening, and he arrived exhausted and fearing the worst.

His eyes lingered on the bus as it appeared around the corner, and he wrung his hands nervously as it came to a stop. The door opened and the ramp came down, then suddenly Kíli rolled off it, his eyes bright, and his face alight with happiness. Bilbo grinned and strode towards him pulling him into a hug and bending down before him.

"How was your day?" Bilbo asked, taking in his son's excited expression. Kíli's grin spread wide across his face and he beamed up at the man with glowing eyes.

"I made a friend!" He claimed eagerly, finishing the statement off with a little giggle, and Bilbo smiled brilliantly in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leave a comment if you like, even just to say hello!


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was about time I update this story, since a few people seem to be worried that I’ve abandoned it. I assure you, that will not happen. I still feel very passionate about this and I’ll definitely keep working on it!

The first time Kíli invited Ori over to his house Gimli eyed the new addition to their play time with trepidation.  The redhead didn’t trust him.  After all, Gimli had only ever heard his friend say bad things about school.  Kíli hated his classes, and his teachers, and though he’d never specifically mentioned anything, Gimli was sure the other children bullied him.  And Ori went to Kíli’s school.  So did that mean Ori bullied him too?  Gimli followed the shorter boy with his eyes constantly.  He wouldn’t let him out of his sight, not for a single second.  Every time Kíli invited Ori over, Gimli invited himself over as well.  Just to make sure. 

For some reason Ori didn’t seem all that disturbed by his suspicious glances, though it might have been because the scruffy child was always looking down at his feet.  Ori was a shy boy, even more so than Kíli, but the two of them didn’t have any trouble getting along and talking to each other.  Sometimes Gimli even felt a bit left out, when they started reading a book together or talking about the stars.  The redhead didn’t know much about stuff like that.

As Ori’s visits became more frequent, and Gimli continued to watch him, there was just no evidence that the boy wished his friend any kind of harm.  In fact, Kíli seemed genuinely happy around the new boy, so Gimli forced himself to get used to Ori’s presence.  He even let him come over to his house to play one day, instead of inviting himself over to Kíli’s. 

The three of them were outside, bundled up in light jackets to ward off the autumn breeze.  Glóin was raking leaves into large piles around the tiny lawn, and Gimli and Ori took turns jumping into them while Kíli watched from his chair.  They were laughing as the leaves scattered beneath their weight, flittering back about the lawn, and Glóin eventually gave up on keeping his yard tidy at all.  Ori squealed as he was buried beneath the leaves, then jumped out and threw a bunch at Kíli, making the brunet hold out his hands and laugh along with the other two boys. 

“That’s enough boys!  Let my husband finish up his work already!” Runa shouted out at the children as she exited her front door, and all three giggled and approached her, taking cups of warm cider from the tray in her hands.  She watched them sip away and after a few minutes Runa smiled and lifted her eyes as Bilbo biked up his short walkway.  He dismounted with a heavy sigh and a wave, before coming over to the fence line as he unbuckled his helmet.

“You look exhausted Mr. Bilbo,” Runa commented, and Bilbo leant heavily over the fence and accepted a glass of cider gratefully.  He took a long sip, and then another, before letting out another drawn out sigh.

“Oh I’m fine, no need to worry, just a long day of deliveries,” Bilbo insisted, and he waved her off and turned to watch the boys help Glóin fill up some bags with leaves.  Runa made a sympathetic face and turned away, coughing harshly into her sleeve.  She paused for a moment, staring at her arm intently, and then rotated sideways to clear her throat.

“Are you ill Runa?” Bilbo asked, eyeing his neighbour carefully, but she simply turned to him and smiled, tugging her cardigan tight around her body. 

 “Nothing but a head cold, no need to worry dear,” Runa voiced, and she took a long drink of cider as another fit came on.  Bilbo’s eyes narrowed as Glóin approached, dragging a stuffed bag along with him.  The older man faced his wife and rubbed her back gently.

“Runa, why not take a rest, love,” Glóin suggested, and he looked into her eyes with a subtle tilt of the head.  She huffed and turned to Bilbo, who shrugged his shoulders but seemed to back her husband’s words.  Runa straightened her skirt and fiddled with the tray in her hands, hunching slightly as she struggled to hold in another bout of coughing.

“Oh all right. I might just go lie down for a titch,” she finally gave in, and she walked back into her tiny home mumbling about overbearing friends and family, ironically describing herself much of the time.  Bilbo chuckled and smiled but couldn’t keep the worry from his expression, and he turned towards Glóin the moment Runa closed the front door behind her.

“She should go see Oín!  I know your brother would want to help,” Bilbo suggested, and Glóin relaxed against the fence and nodded in agreement.

“I’ve tried, she refuses,” he muttered under his breath before lifting his head towards his friend.

“Besides, he’s got his hands full.  Lots o’ injuries in that gang attack near Chetwood,” Glóin added, and Bilbo’s mouth opened wide as he remembered Bofur mentioning it last they met.  Luckily his store was left unscathed.  He remembered seeing the crashed in windows and charred storefronts, and there was graffiti stencilled on nearly every surface.  Red dragons, coiled into themselves.  The imagery was enough to make a person feel sick to their stomach.

“Oh…that’s right, wasn’t there some kind of fire?” Bilbo commented with a shiver. 

“Yeh, lots o’ burn victims,” the other man spoke gloomily.  Bilbo sighed and straightened his back.

“Guess he would be pretty busy then, still he’d make time for Runa,” the shorter man insisted, and Glóin offered him a sad smile.

“Aye, he would, but Runa says his medicines are better spent elsewhere, on children, and people in need.  Yeh know how she is,” Glóin rambled, and he slapped his hand against the fence in frustration.

“Stubborn woman, that one.  I married her fer a reason yeh know.  When she gets an idea in her head she sticks to it,” Glóin ranted, his eyes glancing anxiously towards his home.  The redheaded man blinked a few times and turned towards the boys running around in the yard.  They were looking over a paper frantically and finally Gimli pointed in the direction of the fence and the three made their way over.

“She’s strong.  I’m sure she’ll pull through, I’ll make up some of my ginger stew later and bring it over,” Bilbo promised, as the boys started inspecting the fence right in front of him.

“Kíli can help, right?” Bilbo asked, drawing the brunet’s attention.  The boy grinned broadly and nodded his head up and down.

“Yep!  I’m a good cook!” he bragged, and Glóin chuckled at him fondly.

“Last time Gimli here tried to make anything he melted a spatula to a frying pan, ain’t that righ’ son?” Glóin remarked, and the red headed boy flushed and shifted back and forth on his feet.  He crunched the paper between his hands in embarrassment, and Ori urged him to straighten it back out.

“What nonsense are you boys up to today?” Bilbo questioned, peering over the fence to look down at the creased paper, and Gimli pulled it to his chest quickly, hiding whatever mysteries it depicted.  The boys eyed each other for a moment and then Gimli leaned forward and held his hand to his mouth secretively.

“We’re looking for lost treasure!” he whispered eagerly, his eyes wide and excited, and then the other two giggled and beckoned him away, as Ori mumbled something and pointed the opposite direction.

“Treasure?” Bilbo gaped at their retreating forms and he glanced towards his friend with a raised eyebrow.  Glóin rubbed at his beard with a satisfied smile before crossing his arms in a smug manner.

“I buried some gears o’er in Margery’s garden, with her permission of course.  Used one o’ the wife’s tins, she’s been askin’ for it all day,” Glóin explained, and he snickered under his breath with a playful gleam in his eyes.  Bilbo let out a laugh, and shook his head as he watched the three boys run into the next lawn over, doing their best to be sneaky.  Between Gimli’s red hair and Kíli’s wheelchair, the group stood out like a sore thumb. 

“Not a word, you hear me?” Glóin implored him, and Bilbo held up his hands in defense. 

“Not a word!” he promised, though he knew Runa would have forgiven her husband for the theft regardless.  It was just a few minutes later when Gimli ran up to the two adults, holding out a necklace ordained with all sorts of gears, nuts, and other fancy fasteners.

“Da! Look what Ori made us! With the treasure we found!” the red head shouted, and Glóin eyed the jewellery along with the matching sets on both Kíli’s and Ori’s necks.  It glittered in the sunlight, and Bilbo reached out and touched it carefully, the silver and bronze pieces sliding through his fingers.  Gimli pulled away after a second and jumped around eagerly with his new trinket, before looping it around his neck as well.  The boy gushed about how amazing it was as he ran around the other two boys, stopping occasionally to model for them, and Ori flushed at the praise.  Bilbo couldn’t help but grin at the sight of what seemed another lasting friendship in the making.

* * *

Thorin leaned back in his chair as his office door opened with a single loud knock, and Dwalin entered, greeting him with a grunt.  The man looked worn and he practically fell into the chair across from Thorin’s desk.  His body slumped against the cushions and then he dug around in a plastic bag, pulling out a few containers and sliding one across the table with a set of chopsticks.  Thorin caught the little box and nodded his thanks, digging into the noodle dish eagerly.  He loosened his tie and lifted one of his feet over the opposite leg.  He licked his lips in satisfaction, glad that he could act casual in the other man’s presence without facing any kind of judgement. 

“How are things on the force,” Thorin asked, lifting a pile of noodles to his mouth.  He struggled to get a few loose stragglers to their destination, and managed to look like a gaping fish for a moment or two. 

“Ugh, terrible,” Dwalin groaned, and he slammed his noodle container down onto the wooden desk in frustration.  The burly man ran both his hands over his face and unzipped the leather jacket he wore, letting his arms fall over the rests on the chair.

“Gang attacks everywhere, half my men won’t go near the core, and who can blame ‘em?” he complained, and then he lowered his hands to rest atop his jeans.  Thorin eyed him sympathetically, and then focused on his quick meal.  The two ate in silence for a few minutes and finally Thorin lifted his chin as he scraped the last bits of food down his throat.  He tossed the paper container into his waste bin and turned completely towards his friend, offering his full attention. 

“I’m thinking about retiring,” Dwalin revealed, as he stared out of the window wearily.

“I’ve lost a lot of good people, and fighting with management has become damn near impossible.  Honestly I’m tired of it all,” he ranted, shaking his head slightly in anger.  For years he’d been one of the driving forces behind policing in the centre core, but his superiors felt it was a lost cause, and a waste of resources to provide funding for his unit.  Without the necessary improvements, it was near impossible to keep the gangs under control, and Dwalin just couldn’t stand to watch as his friends were picked off while fighting at his side any longer.  He’d be better off trying to help on his own, without management breathing down his neck and advising him to focus on other parts of the city.

“They’ll be down another good one,” Thorin commented, and Dwalin chuckled faintly and lowered his head to study the patterns in the wood grain on the desk. 

“The people won’t be,” the bald man muttered with a sly grin and Thorin nodded at him in understanding.

“How’s the construction on the hospital in Redwater coming?” Dwalin asked, trying to steer the conversation to a different subject.  Thorin twirled a pen atop his desk and tilted his head back and forth in response.

“Okay, but we’re losing a fair chunk of money towards it, as expected,” the man revealed.  Dwalin sat back and ran his fingers across his chin.

“It was a necessity; there ain’t enough affordable clinics in that area of the city, and none in the centre really,” the burly man mentioned, and he pulled the remaining fast food containers from the bag and placed them on the desk.  Dwalin sifted through the pile of fortune cookies for his bag of eggrolls, and opened the paper covering eagerly.

“At least the research facility expansion has helped us, it’s making a good amount, and even created a few jobs,” Thorin remarked, though the jobs the facility supplied weren’t exactly the sort Erebor was desperately in need of.  He had been forced to hire people with advanced degrees, capable of furthering scientific research, and generally those people were the ones that had no problem finding places to work in the first place.

“They’ve started construction on that new factory in the centre core, who was it owned by again…,” Dwalin trailed off, bending forwards to take a large bite.  The man across from him narrowed his eyes and let the pen hang limply between his fingers.

“Smaug, Sebastian Smaug,” Thorin droned, and he pulled one of the containers towards his body and stared down into it with suspicion.  There were far too many unknown ingredients for him to risk eating it.

“Yeh, that’s the one.  I hear they’ve already begun hiring.  Maybe you oughta look into partnerships?  Before they form one with Thranduil. Gonna finish that?” Dwalin asked, eyeing the dish sitting in front of his friend.  Thorin sighed and slid it back across the desk.

“I’ve considered it, but it’s too much of a risk at the moment.  I’d rather wait a few years; see what they have to offer,” he admitted, trying not to grimace as Dwalin shovelled the mystery food down his throat.  The bald man swallowed and slapped the empty container down, rubbing at his belly in satisfaction.

“Odd they have the funds to open up a new facility like that, and in a place like Erebor?  The economy ain’t exactly strong.  I’ve never even heard the name before,” he said, and then he slammed his fist into his chest as something inside his body began to burn. 

“It would have been cheap to buy the property,” Thorin voiced coolly, and Dwalin grunted and belched loudly, laughing at the grimace on his friend’s face.

“Aye…no one wanted to build….there,” the large man admitted as he pictured the absolute ruin in that part of the city.  Moria was by far one of the worst districts in Erebor.  When Alfirin Labs exploded it set half of the area on fire, leaving no more than charred buildings and broken down landscape behind.  The rest of the district collapsed not long after.  No one wanted to invest in the area, not with all of the contamination, and nothing was ever rebuilt.  The remaining businesses began to fail as more and more people moved away from the destitute land.  And gangs had begun to make the district their home.  Even Dwalin rarely set foot in that part of the city.  Policing it was damn near impossible. 

The two men sat in silence for a moment, as they reminisced about lost friends and family, and remembered the way the centre core once thrived.  It used to be so full of life, so much culture, and the tiny shops were stuffed to the brim with unique items found nowhere else.  Now it was like a ghost town.  Thorin couldn’t remember the last time he visited that part of the city.  There was so much work left to do if he meant to revitalize the core. 

“I’ve been thinking of funding a collegiate institute as well, in the outer core,” Thorin mentioned, and Dwalin looked towards him curiously.  There were plenty of schools already in the outer districts, and to be honest he did not understand why the other man meant to invest there when his focus was so clearly on rebuilding the city’s interior.

“It would attract students from out of town, maybe bring some people back to the city.  And we can offer scholarship programs, bring people from the centre out, get the kids to make friendships with one another.  It would give more people a chance,” he explained and Dwalin raised his eyebrows in interest.

“Can you afford it?” he asked, running a napkin across his face.  Thorin scrunched up his brow and tilted his head slightly to the side.

“For now,” he intoned calmly.  Honestly, Thorin was more than willing to dig into his own funds for this particular project.  He knew education was important.  Dwalin placed his arms against the chair and leant back with a smile.  He made a noise of agreement and then held out a hand towards the fortune cookies still clumped together on the desk.  Thorin smirked and bent forwards, making a show of deciding which cookie to pick, and he swiped one right from the centre of the pile.  Dwalin reached out afterwards, taking one from the side, and the two men fiddled with the packaging before cracking the cookies open and pulling the little white papers from inside. 

“The pleasure of what we enjoy is lost by wanting more,” Thorin read slowly, and he lifted his gaze towards his friend when the other man snorted and spat a few pieces of his cookie from his mouth.

“Thráin would’ve loved that,” he grunted sarcastically, and the man across from him tossed the paper onto the desk carelessly.

“The old coot never would have lowered himself enough to eat takeout in the first place, let alone open up a fortune cookie.  What’s yours say?” Thorin asked as he broke the remaining pieces apart, nibbling away on the snack slowly.  Dwalin straightened the paper in his hands and peered down at it through narrowed eyes.

“Adopt a pet,” he deadpanned, and Thorin let out a loud guffaw.

“What kind of fortune is that?” the businessman questioned, and he couldn’t help but grin as he imagined his friend walking up and down the hallways of a pound, trying to pick out an animal.  Thorin wondered what kind of pet the bald man would go for.  A cat maybe?  A big fluffy white one with a flat face. Thorin almost spewed the contents of his mouth out over his desk.

“Hell if I know,” Dwalin muttered, though Thorin was sure the other man was intrigued on some level, he even tucked the fortune in his jacket pocket.  Not long after they finished their cookies, Galadriel knocked on his door and poked her head in, ushering a little blond boy inside.  Thorin turned in his chair and stood up; meeting his nephew with a hug and a pat on the head, remarking not for the first time at how fast the lad was growing.  The blond ran over to Dwalin immediately after and the bald man lifted him into his lap.

“Fíli, how was school today,” Thorin asked as he packed up his briefcase and organized his desk.  The boy kicked his legs slightly and tugged on the straps of his backpack.

“Good, we played soccer in gym, and I scored two goals!” he exclaimed, and Dwalin squeezed his shoulders encouragingly.

“A little athlete right here,” Dwalin said with pride, and Thorin approached and looked down at his nephew with a smile.

“No fights today right?” he pressed, and Fíli lowered his gaze and nibbled at his lower lip with a smirk.

“Not one, I swear,” the blond stated with a nod, even as he tucked a hand behind his back and crossed his fingers.  Dwalin eyed the action with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey! What’s this?” the burly man asked, and he gripped Fíli’s wrist and pulled his hand out from its hiding place.  Fíli flushed and pouted, glaring at the bald man accusingly.

“It wasn’t really a fight,” he muttered and Thorin crossed his arms and leant back against his desk, studying his nephew with a stern look. 

“I just tripped Legolas on the field is all, and it was only ‘cause he had the ball,” Fíli insisted, crossing his arms as well.  Thorin shook his head in disbelief, but in the end still let out a small laugh and tousled his nephew’s hair gently.

“What am I to do with you?” he asked, and the blond lowered his eyes and tried to hide his forming smirk.  As Thorin moved to grab his suitcase the boy jumped down from Dwalin’s lap and ran towards his uncle, grabbing onto the side of his pants.

“Can we get pizza tonight?” Fíli requested, his eyes wide and pleading, and his face a mask of innocence.  Thorin snorted and lifted his jacket over his shoulder, looking down at the boy incredulously.

“Please uncle,” Fíli begged, leaning back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“You think I’m going to reward you for tripping someone?” Thorin questioned, and the boy scrunched up his face in disappointment.  To be honest, the thought of take out twice in one day was a bit much for the businessman anyway.  As Thorin approached the door, and Dwalin stood to leave as well, Galadriel poked her head inside the room one more time. 

“Thorin, Thranduil is on the phone, something about an incident at school today?” she intoned, her face expressionless.  Thorin visibly cringed and then he shared a look with Dwalin and glanced briefly towards his nephew with a thoughtful gaze.

“I’m going to get pizza with my nephew, take a message for me okay?” Thorin suddenly requested, and Galadriel nodded before disappearing back to her desk.  Dwalin laughed as Fíli jumped up and down in excitement, running to latch onto his uncle energetically.

“Yaaay!” the blond shouted and he skipped out of the office, singing little jingles about cheese and pepperoni along the way.  Thorin held the door to his office open as his friend exited, and the bald man shook his head in a chastising manner, doing a good impression of his elder brother.  Thorin simply returned the gesture with a carefree shrug.

* * *

The first snow came suddenly, and with it a drastic drop in temperature.  White flakes covered the ground and made travel difficult in the inner parts of the city, but somehow they managed.  Bilbo dressed in layers, and made sure to wrap Kíli up in scarves and tattered cardigans, and he scavenged a tiny worn but heavy jacket for his son to help block the worst of the wind.  Kíli seemed overly sensitive to the cold.  His back ached more and more with each passing day, and finally Bilbo was forced to begin giving his son morphine injections.  He tried to keep the quantities minimal, and used it as infrequently as possible.  There were days however when the brunet woke unable to move at all, scrunched up in a ball atop his bed as he struggled not to cry.  Kíli was so grateful for the pain relief, it was difficult not to give in and administer the drug as much as possible, but Bilbo gave him the pills instead whenever he could, and they seemed to help at least a tiny bit. 

Bilbo struggled to push Kíli’s chair through the snow covered sidewalk leading up to Bofur’s shop, the wheels dragging through the icy mess with a great deal of resistance.  Even Chetwood District was beginning to show further signs of wear and tear.  The police presence seemed to have all but disappeared in the last few months, and gang activity was spreading quickly throughout the districts making up the inner core of Erebor.  The storefront next to Bofur’s, once a refurbished electronics shop, even sported smashed in windows, and clearly someone had ransacked the place thoroughly.  It was a miracle Bofur’s shop still went untouched, but Bilbo supposed there wasn’t a high demand for random antiques on the black market, or any market really.

Bilbo struggled to open the door to _Diamonds in the Rough_ , lifting the wheels of Kíli’s chair over the slightly elevated entrance.  The bell chimed as the door knocked against his back, and Bofur poked his head out from behind one of the store’s many aisles curiously.

“Bilbo!” Bofur exclaimed heartily, and he approached and held the door open to help ease their way inside.

“And Kíli!” the man spoke, and he beamed down at the boy happily as the door closed heavily behind them. 

“Hi Mr. Bofur!” Kíli shouted, finally able to wheel himself around with ease once inside.  The lad took off his scarf in a flash and waved at the shop keep as he hurried towards the back of the store where rows upon rows of books covered the walls.

“Off to the music section again, no surprise there.  And it’ll be astronomy next I’m sure,” Bofur commented as Bilbo took his jacket off and shook away the snow. 

“How have things been?  I haven’t seen you two in a few weeks,” Bofur asked, and he took his friend’s coat and scarf and hung them over a vintage hook near the entrance.

“Busy.  He likes school a bit more now.  It was a rocky start, but he made a friend his age, and he seems to like his classes, although I don’t like the way the teachers treat him,” Bilbo frowned as he recalled the way Kíli described how he was spoken to, like he had trouble hearing and couldn’t understand the lessons the same way the other children could.  

“So many of the schools wouldn’t accept him, too much trouble they said.  It’s outrageous.  He’s so eager to learn…,” Bilbo complained, and Bofur led him to a seat and placed an arm on his shoulder in support.

“You did a good thing, Mr. Bilbo, taking a child in like that.  I would have too if I thought I could afford it,” the shop keep admitted, and he set down a bowl of cookies and poured two cups of hot water.

“But…that’s just it, I just, how am I to…I can’t afford it!” Bilbo cried, though he tried to keep his voice down so Kíli wouldn’t overhear.

“I feel as though I’m letting him down!  I can’t pay for x-rays, to help him, and he’s in pain all of the time Bofur!” Bilbo spoke frantically, and he didn’t even register as the other man pushed a cup of tea into his hands.

“Just this morning I had to give him an injection, it was…well, it’s getting more frequent,” he worried his lip, and then finally took notice of the warm drink, gulping down a long sip and looking towards the other man in thanks.  To be honest, it was almost like clockwork giving Kíli injections.  He could probably have done it in his sleep if he wanted to.  Bilbo fiddled with the teacup, turning it around on the tiny dish it sat upon.

“I couldn’t even buy him a decent birthday gift.  And with Christmas coming up…,” Bilbo trailed off, his head shaking in exasperation.  He closed his eyes wearily and wished more than anything that he had just a little extra money in his pocket, at least enough to give the brunet a tiny gift.  Bofur put his cup down on the table between them and stood up quickly, drawing Bilbo’s attention to his retreating form.

“I think I may have just the thing…,” the other man mentioned, and Bilbo watched as his friend scavenged through a few piles of junk, tossing things around until he found what he was looking for.  The boisterous man grinned wildly, his hair bouncing about as he hopped back over, and he handed Bilbo a small leather bound case.  Bofur checked quickly to make sure Kíli was still occupied and Bilbo put his cup down as he studied the object with great interest.  He unlatched the hooks on the side and opened the case with care, his eyes opening impossibly wide.

“Bofur…this is, I can’t possibly pay you enough for this!  This is…this is a Stradivarius!” he hissed, his hands hovering over the instrument in surprise.

“I know enough about violins to tell this is worth far too much for you to just give away!” Bilbo insisted, and he closed it up and tried to hand the case back to his friend.  Bofur took it from him, but still tucked the instrument inside of Bilbo’s bag with a smile, making sure it was fully covered and out of sight in case Kíli came wandering by.

“Don’t you worry about it.  No one looking for an instrument like that will be stepping into my modest little shop,” Bofur maintained and Bilbo was left completely speechless.  He felt his eyes tearing up and Bofur gestured towards the tea again, watching as his friend sniffled and sipped away at the soothing liquid.

“Besides, it’s old, worn, you can see that yourself.  It’s not worth so much anymore.  You’re my friend Bilbo, take it as a gift for the little one.   It’s the least I can do,” the store keep offered as he sat back to enjoy his brew.

“And if he ever wants a few lessons, don’t hesitate to look my way!  I’m no professional, but I can play a tune or two on a violin,” Bofur remarked with a cheery grin.  Bilbo nodded gently and wiped away a few stray tears.  He was so lucky, to have friends that cared so much, that supported him the way they did.  And despite the terribly cold weather looming just outside, in that moment the world seemed like such a very warm place.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! My longest chapter yet! Hope everyone enjoys it. You’ll notice that there’s a bit of a time skip mid-way through this segment. From here on out time will be progressing more quickly, so be prepared for the characters to age a little bit in the upcoming parts.

Ori scrunched his brow as he tried to make out the overly long and complex word scribbled across a vial.  There were letters that didn’t seem to go together, and his brother’s writing was impossibly hard to read, even if he had known the word to begin with.  It was one of many vials clustered together on the shelving unit against the wall of Dori’s lab.  He knew they were medicines, or vaccines, or something like that.  His brother had mumbled about what he did for work on occasion, but the science of it was far too advanced for Ori, and he wasn’t all that interested in medicine anyway.  There was one thing he knew for sure though, and that was that what his brother did for a living, was very important.  He was smart, and he was making things to help people, and Ori respected him and looked up to him because of it.

Dori was hunched over his desk, occasionally peering into a microscope.  He tapped away on a keyboard, inputting important results from whatever experiment he was working on.  He was focused, and talking to himself, and Ori was very bored of it all.  The lab his brother worked in was stuffy, and too white.  There weren’t any windows, and he couldn’t even tell what time of day it was.  The few books tucked into the shelving units were uninteresting, with hardly any pictures or adventures inside, and he wasn’t allowed to leave, in case someone saw him inside the building. 

The scruffy boy moseyed around the outskirts of the room, peering behind cabinets and tables, hoping to find something intriguing, but there wasn’t a single scrap of dust to be seen.  Even the large knitted patterns in his sweater were more interesting to look at.  Ori sighed, and glanced towards his brother.  The man was rubbing at his brow as he scribbled some notes down in a book.  He looked tired, and there were streaks of grey beginning to show up in his well-kept hair.  Ori frowned slightly and wondered why they were there at all.  Only old people had grey hair, right? 

Ori padded over to his brother’s desk, and peeked over the top of it, studying the various bottles filled with clear liquid.  He wondered what would happen if he combined them all together like the mad scientists in cartoons always seemed to be doing.  Would they turn green and begin to smoke?  Maybe explode and coat them both in gooey slime.  Ori grinned slightly and reached out to turn one of the bottles around curiously.      

“Don’t touch that!” Dori hissed at him suddenly, and the boy pulled his hand away in an instant.

“I w-wasn’t,” he claimed, ducking his head slightly in shame.  The last thing he wanted to do was be a bother to his brother.  Dori huffed slightly and set down his pen, turning to look towards his little brother reproachfully.  Ori’s face was downtrodden, and he fiddled with the edge of the desk meekly, looking incredibly small in the oversized shirt encasing his body.  It was a hand me down from Nori, their middle brother, and as Dori studied the sweater he wondered if it had perhaps been his at one time too, long ago.  

“I know you’re bored, but I have to finish this today.  Just a few more hours and we can go,” Dori sighed, taking a moment to rub at the back of his neck wearily.  Ori didn’t respond, and the older brother eyed him carefully.  He knew it wasn’t fair of him to force his littlest brother to sit still for an entire day while he was at work.  It had to be frustrating for a child so young.  But he didn’t have the money for a sitter.  His research job for Oakenshield Industries paid well, but he had loans to pay off, lots of them, and there was no one else around to support them.  Not since Nori had run off, doing god knows what and abandoning the two of them in favour of the streets. 

Dori felt the beginnings of a migraine behind his eyes just thinking about it.  He worried about his brothers, both of them, regardless of what kind of trouble Nori was getting himself into.  They were all each other had, and Dori couldn’t help but think it was best for them to stick together.  They definitely should not have been traipsing off with gangs and getting involved in nefarious crime activities like some kind of comic book villain.  Dori grimaced and gestured to his little brother hurriedly, trying to refocus his thoughts.

“Come here, I know I’ve got some markers around here somewhere,” Dori muttered as he searched through the drawers beneath his desk.  Ori hopped into the seat across from him, and poked at the sheets of paper his brother slid in front of him.  They were diagrams, of the brain and various parts of the human anatomy.  They weren’t anywhere near as interesting as the drawings in his constellation book, but it was at least something to do.  He popped the lids off the markers Dori handed to him and started doodling on the paper.  Ori knew his brother was trying his best to keep him occupied, and he focused on adding some colour to the drab illustrations while watching Dori out of the corners of his eyes.  His brother had already returned to poring over his work, his back bent as he scribbled away.

“We’ll get you a new colouring book and some crayons tonight okay?  You can keep them here if you want,” Dori mumbled, and Ori’s eyes lit up.  He loved colouring books!

“Okay!” he exclaimed excitedly, already wondering what sort of pictures might await him at the store.  Ori busied himself for a few minutes, scribbling little designs around the diagrams and making flowers sprout from the brain.  He looked at the drawing of the human skeleton, tracing the lines defining the bones inside, and he paused suddenly as his marker dragged across one of the shins.

“Dori…,” Ori whispered, looking towards the man across from him with probing eyes.    

“Mmmhmm,” the elder brother grunted, his gaze stuck on something as he twisted one of the dials on the microscope slowly.

“You know my friend Kíli,” Ori started, nibbling slightly on his lip.

“The one in the wheelchair?” Dori mentioned, and he suddenly groaned miserably and sat up.  The older man began pouring liquid into more vials and bottling them up meticulously.

“Do you think you can make him better someday?” Ori asked, his marker pausing over the paper, leaving a large purple dot in the middle of the diagram’s leg.  Dori froze, looking towards his little brother with saddened eyes as his fingers held fast to a vial. 

“I don’t think so Ori,” he spoke gently, watching the way his brother’s face fell in disappointment.

“He’s…it’s unfortunate but I don’t think his legs can be fixed with the medicines I make,” Dori explained.

“But you work for important people. Can’t you just ask them to help?” Ori probed, his eyes pleading as he finally pulled the marker away from his drawing. 

“It doesn’t work that way Ori,” Dori mentioned with a heavy sigh.

”First he needs an appointment, and those are still hard to get at the public hospital, especially when the illness isn’t life threatening.  And his problem is more specialized.  Even if his legs can be fixed, treatments for that sort of thing still cost money, lots of money,” the greying man uttered.  Dori set down his supplies and crossed his arms, offering his brother his full attention.  He knew how much the younger boy cared for his new friend, even if they had not known each other for long. 

Ori blinked at him and looked down sadly.  They didn’t have a lot of money.  Dori always made sure he was taken care of and fed, and they didn’t live in the worst part of town, but Ori wasn’t completely blind to the struggles they faced.  His brother was always buying groceries with the coupon clippings from the paper, and some weeks they ate less than others, when the season was poor and fruit became expensive.  When his sweaters got holes in them he kept wearing them instead of buying new ones like a few of his classmates.  His shoes were ratty, and his toys were often purchased from the pre-owned store in Brandywine.

“But what about pain medicine.  No one would notice if you took some of that for him,” Ori pressed, wishing more than anything that he could help his friend.  The first time he’d seen Kíli fold over in pain had been a great shock.  He hadn’t known what to do.  Thankfully Gimli had been there as well, and the redhead immediately rushed off to find Mr. Bilbo.  Ori had stared in fright as the man injected Kíli with something to help, desperately wishing he could stop his friend from feeling such pain ever again.  When Ori looked towards his brother Dori frowned at him chastising, forcing the younger boy to again lower his gaze.

“Ori, that’s stealing,” the older brother scolded, and Ori’s fingers tightened around the marker.

“I can’t risk my job like that, you know that,” Dori insisted, and the scruffy boy nodded in return.

“I know you want to help, but I need this job, so I can help you first, okay?  I’m lucky to have it at all.  Without it we’d all be on the street,” he continued, slouching over as he returned to his work.

“Nori doesn’t seem to mind it so it can’t be all that bad,” Ori jibed, pouting as he began drawing angry circles on the paper.  The table lurched, and Ori jerked his head up in surprise when his marker jerked, leaving a long vivid streak across the paper.  Dori wasn’t pointing a finger or staring him down like expected, instead he was glaring heatedly towards a spot somewhere on the far wall.

“Nori is a complete nitwit, and if I see his pointed hair ever again he’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle him,” the older brother bristled, his mouth grimacing as his eyebrow twitched.  He calmed quickly, realizing he was getting far too worked up in front of his little brother.

“The streets are no place for a child to grow up, trust me Ori.  We’re lucky to have a roof over our heads,” he muttered softly.  The two sat across from one another sombrely, both caught up in thought, but soon the faint sound of voices echoed in from the hallway, and Dori panicked as he heard several footsteps approaching.

“Ori, quick, under the table!” Dori gasped, waving his hand at his brother hurriedly, and the younger of the two scurried beneath the metal bench, markers and all.  Dori reached across and gathered up the mess of papers, tucking them beneath his work, and he had just sat back when there was a loud knock at the door.  Shortly after the metal creaked as the heavy door was pushed inward, and Dori looked up to see Sigrid, one of the lab assistants.  His eyes widened as he caught the gaze of one of the men behind her and he held his breath and stiffened in his chair. 

“Dori, Mr. Durin is here to check in on the new labs today.  If you don’t mind he and some of his staff are just going to have a look around,” Sigrid mentioned, and she ushered them inside the room.

“O-oh, I see, of course,” Dori stuttered, and he struggled to keep his eyes from straying to where his little brother remained hidden beneath the desk.  He found himself fiddling with the papers stacked in front of him, and his leg began to bounce nervously as he watched the men move around the room out of the corner of his eye.  They were talking amongst themselves, and Sigrid occasionally pointed out a few things on the shelves as she explained what was getting concocted in the lab. 

As Thorin moved to the centre of the room and began investigating the tools at Dori’s workstation, he felt his palms begin to sweat.  He couldn’t screw up.  How would the older man react if he found out Dori was bringing his brother to work with him each day.  It was unprofessional, and he knew it.  The labs were strictly off limits to anyone without the proper credentials.  He’d heard stories of people getting fired from the labs for lesser things, at least under the ownership of Thráin Durin.  Was the new successor just as much of a tyrant?  Dori didn’t know, but the businessman looked severe with his hair tied back tight behind his neck, and his thick eyebrows and deep set eyes only added to his intimidating aura.  He really didn’t want to get fired. 

Dori startled when the man asked him a question and he stared at him blankly for a second, his throat making a few strangled sounds.  It was then that Thorin looked straight down at his feet, a single eyebrow raised, and Dori panicked and stood up as the other man bent low to pick something up off the ground.  One of Ori’s markers had rolled out from beneath the desk, and Dori felt all of the air leave his lungs as Thorin paused, his gaze directed beneath the table.

“There seems to be a boy hidden beneath your workstation, not a part of one of your projects I assume,” Thorin drawled, and Dori squeaked, fiddling with his hands in front of his chest.  As Thorin stood, Ori crawled out, and the other people in the room gasped.  The scruffy boy hurried into Dori’s arms, tugging on his sweater nervously as he looked up at his brother with apologetic eyes. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have a sitter today…i-it won’t happen again,” Dori explained hurriedly, and he was caught off guard when the stoic man smiled. 

“It’s quite alright, Dori, was it?” Thorin asked, and the young man nodded as he held fast to his brother’s shoulders.

“I often bring my nephew along to work with me as well, children come first after all,” Thorin mentioned, and his eyes lowered to study the boy.

“Your son?” he asked, and Dori flushed slightly and shook his head.  It wasn’t the first time someone had made the assumption.  He looked older than he was, and was always the one taking care of Ori, dropping him off at school and even making his lunches.

“Oh no, he’s my baby brother,” Dori murmured, and Thorin frowned just barely before he knelt down and looked into Ori’s lowered eyes.

“And what’s your name?” Thorin asked, smiling kindly towards the child.

“Ori,” was the quiet response, and Thorin reached out towards him, offering a hand to shake.  It took a moment, but the boy grasped his hand with a much smaller one, sporting tiny fingers covered in different coloured inks.

“Nice to meet you Ori,” the man said, and Dori was surprised at his kind demeanour.  He’d never met the owner of Oakenshield Industries before, despite technically working for him, and much of his opinion was formed around what he’d read or heard spoken by those around him, the vast majority of it unkind or incredibly fake.  But Thorin seemed far less intimidating in person than he ever imagined. 

“He lives with you,” Thorin commented, and he stood, grunting slightly as his legs straightened. 

“Ah, yes, our parents were killed a few years ago, in a riot,” Dori spoke calmly, his fingers grasping his little brother’s sweater as Ori leaned against his legs.

“I’m sorry to hear to that,” Thorin offered, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as his shoulders stiffened.  Dori nodded in response and watched as the other man turned and gestured around the room.

“I’m intrigued by your research.  Much of it has great potential.  I’m sure we’ll see good things from you, and I hope you continue working for us for a long while to come,” the business man praised him, and Dori brightened at the compliment.  He’d worked hard to get where he was, struggling to maintain a high average so he could get a scholarship for a good school.  He’ been hired based on his grades alone, and knew he was a risk for a company like Oakenshield Industries, but he wouldn’t let them down. Not when his brother’s future depended on it.  

“Thank you, sir,” Dori voiced, and then the group of men moved to exit, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.  He was holding fast to Ori like he was some kind of lifeline, and slowly he allowed his grip to ease and his shoulders to relax.  His brother stared up at him worriedly, and Dori sighed, longing for a nice cup of tea to soothe his nerves.

* * *

Kíli pressed his nose against the glass, his breath leaving a foggy mark on the window pane in front of his face.  It was dark out, but he could still see the faint glow of the snow covering the ground.  It looked quiet outside, serene, and his eyes flittered around, watching as stray snowflakes fell towards the ground.  The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and other spices, from the meal Bilbo had cooked just a few hours prior.  Kíli had eaten more in one sitting than he ever remembered, to the point that he’d felt a strange heavy feeling in his stomach afterwards.  It was foreign to him, and slightly unpleasant, but he’d take it over the empty pangs he’d grown used to before he met Bilbo any day.

It was his first Christmas spent away from the orphanage, and Kíli couldn’t help but grin broadly as he felt a strange warmth bloom inside his chest.  Everything had been so warm, so cozy.  A part of him still couldn’t believe it was real.

He shifted from his place by the window as Bilbo moved into the room, a plate of Runa’s biscuits in one hand and a funny shaped parcel tucked beneath his other arm.   Kíli eyed it strangely, and he bit his lip as Bilbo set it down atop the little coffee table situated between the bookshelves of the room.  Kíli wheeled himself over, and reached out as Bilbo moved to lift him from the chair to set him down atop the cushy sofa.  There were holes in the cushions and the fabric was going shiny in places from age, but it was comfy and big enough to seat them both.  Kíli had fallen asleep atop it often, nestled against Bilbo’s side while the man read wondrous tales to him.

The brunet reached for a biscuit as soon as he was settled, and giggled as the cushions bounced slightly at the addition of Bilbo’s weight.  The man smiled at him and then leaned forwards, lifting the parcel and handing it to Kíli.  He stared at it for a moment, his eyes searching as crumbs clung to his face, and it wasn’t until Bilbo thrust it further into his hands that Kíli moved to grab it.

“What is it?” he asked, eyeing the strange bulky shape with intent eyes.  The paper crinkled as his fingers turned it around, and he was surprised at the weight of it.

“A gift, for you.  It’s from Bofur too,” Bilbo explained, and he chuckled slightly when Kíli’s eyes widened at the words.  The brunet swallowed visibly and then set the package down atop his legs, sliding his fingers across the stiff paper.  He picked at it for a moment as though not quite sure what to do, then slid one finger beneath a loose bit of the wrapping and peeked beneath.  He took his time, lifting the first piece of tape carefully and sliding it up with utmost care.  Bilbo didn’t think he’d ever seen a child open a gift in such a cautious manner.  Slowly Kíli lifted the paper away from the gift revealing the leather-bound case and then he looked up towards Bilbo with hesitant eyes. 

“Go on, open it, there’s something inside,” Bilbo urged, and finally the brunet let his fingers unhook the latches and lift the lid of the case.  His eyes stared down and his mouth fell open at the first sight of the violin.  Kíli blinked several times before he set one of his hands against the smooth surface of the instrument, and his shoulders rose and he breathed in quickly at the smooth touch of wood.  He couldn’t look away. Even as his gaze blurred with fresh tears he merely blinked them away and stared down at the intricately carved instrument.

“Merry Christmas Kíli,” sounded the gentle voice from his side, and Kíli lifted an arm to rub the snot away from his sniffling nose.  He pushed the violin away with care, making sure it stayed safely on the seat beside him, before using his arms to crawl into Bilbo’s lap.  His arms latched around the man as he was hoisted into a better position, and then he rubbed his face against the material of Bilbo’s shirt.

 “Thank you,” Kíli murmured against his collar, and as he felt the arms returning his embrace just as tightly, another word slipped easily over his lips.

“Dad.”

Bilbo’s eyes flashed open, and he choked slightly on his breath.  His grip tightened around Kíli and couldn’t hold back the tears threatening to fall, several of them dropping to the dark brown hair scattered beneath his chin.  Bilbo entangled his fingers in the messy locks, and pressed a kiss to the top of Kíli’s head, and a moment later they were both lightly sobbing. When Kíli finally pulled away it was with a splotchy face and a red nose.  He squinted at Bilbo adorably, and the older man wiped his eyes with his sleeve before sliding the brunet off his lap.

“You like it then?” he asked, and Kíli nodded at him eagerly, turning to pick the case back up.  He pulled the instrument out of the velvet interior and tried lifting it like he’d seen musicians do in pictures.  It was big compared to him, but he still managed to hold it up, even if his arm began to ache slightly from the weight.

“How about giving it a go?” Bilbo suggested, and he reached over and grabbed the bow, tightening the horsehair before handing it to Kíli.  He had researched quite a bit just to find out the proper care required for playing, and managed to purchase some rosin from the music store in Buckland.  They even tuned the violin for him, so that everything was ready for Kíli to begin playing as soon as he unwrapped the gift.  The brunet took the bow and held it over the strings, while Bilbo adjusted his fingers on the board into a better position.  When Kíli dragged the bow across the strings a high pitched screech sounded and the two of them gritted their teeth and shared a pained expression. 

“It’ll come with practise,” Bilbo encouraged, and Kíli tried again.  The sounds were rough, and could hardly be called notes at all.  Both of their ears would be ringing well throughout the night and Bilbo was extremely grateful that Bofur had offered lessons, as they would no doubt be needed.  Despite the horrid screeching sounding throughout their home, Kíli still laughed joyfully every time a barely recognizable note came from the violin and Bilbo never wanted him to stop playing, not as long as that smile remained plastered on his face.  

* * *

**_3 Years Later_ **

“I can’t believe they actually play in this shite weather!” Dwalin groaned, and he hiked the collar of his jacket up to block out some of the sleet slapping against his neck.  It was cold, and wet, and he didn’t understand how anyone could possibly enjoy running around on a mucky field on such a day, when he felt like crap simply sitting in the stands and watching.

“That’s competitive soccer for you, never stops,” Thorin grumbled, looking every bit as happy to be there.  His brow was lowered, and he was grimacing as he held his arms taught to his sides, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his tweed coat.  The game had been fairly uneventful up to that point, neither team scoring a single goal, and much of the activity happening in the centre of the field. 

“Did you have a good Christmas?” Thorin asked, glancing to the left and squinting as a few wet snowflakes fell over his face.  He sniffled and scrunched up his shoulders, wondering if the next photo of him in the paper would show him skulking and looking akin to a wet dog.

“Aye,” Dwalin grunted, and then he chuckled lowly and nudged his friend with an elbow.

“But not as good as the little lad from what I hear.  A laptop?  Was that really necessary at his age?” the larger man wondered, and his eyebrow rose slightly as he directed a scathing look towards his friend.  Thorin brightened a bit, and grinned as he looked down at the soccer field, watching his nephew’s little blond head run around in an attempt to get to the ball.

“He can’t stop talking about it.  Should have seen him!  Up at dawn, tearing through presents like a bat out of hell.  He was jumping up and down when he finally opened it,” Thorin gloated.

“You spoil him,” Dwalin chastised, and the other man shrugged and snickered, unable to hide the boastful grin on his face.

“I can’t help it, I like seeing him happy,” Thorin admitted, and his friend sighed and nodded in agreement. 

“How’s the academy planning going?  Everything on schedule?” the bald man inquired, and Thorin stretched out his back, scowling as the bones in his spine cracked.

“There’s a lot more involved in creating a school than I thought.  The construction will take a few years, but it should be done in more than enough time for Fíli to start high school.  It’s the rest of it that’s complicated,” he intoned, sitting back slightly in the bleachers.

“Speaking of which, I need a favour,” Thorin continued, drawing a suspicious look from his friend.

“This doesn’t sound good,” Dwalin muttered, also beginning to grow antsy sitting atop the solid metal stand.

“I need more teachers.  I’ve got most of the subjects covered, all highly qualified, but I was hoping you might be interested in teaching a course or two.  Gym, politics, that sort of thing,” Thorin hinted, and the bald man’s eyes widened as he stared at his friend in shock.

“What? Me?” Dwalin asked, pointing to himself in disbelief. 

“You gotta be joking!” he gasped, and Thorin smirked at him and lifted his chin.

“I figured you’d be bored to tears in retirement,” the businessman uttered, and Dwalin merely crossed his arms.  He was rather enjoying the time he’d had to himself, although it was true he spent an awful lot of his days wandering aimlessly through town.  He was also beginning to window shop at the local pet stores, which was fairly problematic.  He already caved once, purchasing a kitten that needed a good home.  The thing turned out the be a bit of a tyrant, scratching up all of his upholstery, but one look into those beady little eyes had Dwalin bewitched yet again. 

“Your brother has already agreed,” Thorin mentioned, and Dwalin narrowed his eyes and rubbed at his chin. 

“Well if Balin is…,” he trailed off, not wanting to be outdone by his brother as he so often was.  The two had a bit of a friendly rivalry, and Balin seemed to have the upper hand more often than not, though Dwalin would never admit it.  Thorin patted him on the back in thanks before he had the chance to fully finish his sentence, and he knew there was no backing down.  What were a few teenagers anyway?  Surely he could manage a class or two, he was a grown man after all. 

“We’ve come a long way in just a few years,” Dwalin commented, watching the teams on the field scatter to await the whistle.

“New clinics, two hospitals, a school in the works,” he listed, leaning back against the cold metal frame behind his body.

“Still lots to be done, just look at the city core.  It’s worse than ever,” Thorin groaned, and he sighed and closed his eyes, feeling his body tense up at the thought of it.

“No one wants to go there, the businesses and people that need our help the most are still continuing to suffer.  There are hundreds of homeless sleeping in the streets.  Even with Brimstone Enterprises moving in, things are out of control.  Gang attacks and robberies, murders even.  And I cannot afford to offer all health care for free.  Not yet,” he ranted, knowing that things would only continue to get worse until such a thing was possible.  Despite all of his efforts, the division between rich and poor was widening, and ever since the police had sworn off defending the streets in the core, the crime rate had sky rocketed. 

“Be proud of what you’ve accomplished so far.  It’s no easy feat, what you’re trying to do.  You’re giving people hope.  Once the school opens tuitions will bring in plenty of extra money you can put towards that sort of thing,” Dwalin encouraged, and Thorin tried to believe him.  It was difficult when the problem stared him in the face each and every day.  He saw interviews on TV with people that hated him, calling him vile names and making comparisons to his grandfather.  He read letters that the people wrote him, begging for help, wanting cures for diseases and illnesses he was unable to provide.  There were those that thanked him, on occasion, but the ones he remembered most were always harsh and criticizing.

Thorin let his attention fall back to his nephew’s soccer game, trying to ease the building tension in his shoulders and neck.  He watched the boys kick the ball across the field, wondering how many of them would grow up to be successful, and how many would fall to the terrors of life in the street.  Would he be able to change things in time, or would he leave Erebor in a mess, with all of the responsibility falling into the hands of Fíli instead.  Thorin cringed and tightened his hands into fists.  He refused to let things come to that. 

He jolted as the whistle blew, and watched the ref on the field raise a red card above his head, gesturing towards Fíli and pointing to the bench.   Thorin stood up, frowning as he looked down at the field, towards the other player still strewn across the grass.

 “What kind of call is that!?” Thorin howled, drawing the attention of a few nearby spectators.  Dwalin stood next to him, squinting at the player rolling on the ground in pain.  Fíli shouted something and stormed off the field angrily while a medic rushed out towards the fallen player.

“He’s faking it!” Thorin accused, his hands on his hips as he watched the scene play out.  But as time passed on and a stretcher was brought out, he edged back and shared a glance with his friend.

“Eh…doesn’t look like that kid is getting back up,” Dwalin muttered, watching as he was lifted and carried away from the game.  Thorin made a noncommittal noise and sat back down, his facial expression shuttered.

“I thought soccer was supposed to help with his aggression,” he sneered, eyeing the bald man severely.  Dwalin raised his arms in the air defensively and shrugged.

“He’s got talent, if he’d just learn to focus a bit more he could even go pro!” Dwalin insisted, but they both knew that was nearly impossible.  Fíli was still visibly fuming on the bench, his lips pouting as he glared at the ref from the sidelines.  It was clear he didn’t regret his actions at all, and would have kicked the referee in the shin given the chance.  Even the other players were giving him a wide berth on the bench.  Thorin felt the judgemental glares of parents directed at him, and he sunk low in his seat and tried to hide behind his jacket to no avail.  It was going to be a very long afternoon.

* * *

Kíli’s eyes were shut tight as he focused on playing the simple lilting melody on his violin.  He was still learning, and had only managed to memorize a few short songs under Bofur’s tutelage.  It had not taken him long to discover just how difficult playing an instrument was, and even after a few years of steady practising, and intense determination, he was far from great.  He was mediocre at best, despite the compliments his dad gave him every time he played.  Kíli smiled slightly as he recalled Bilbo’s beaming face the first time he played him an actual song.  It had been a lullaby, similar in style to the one he was halfway through, and it had brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes.

He was drawn to sad songs, music that evoked emotion.  He loved the stretched straining sound of notes held longer than expected, even if it left him with an empty feeling in his chest.  The music he played spoke to him in a way, and his fingers moved across the strings as he searched for the correct melody.  Ori had accused him on a few occasions of straying from the original sheet music, telling him he was changing it, not playing it the way it was written, but he couldn’t help it.  Kíli loved letting the music guide him, wherever it may want to go. 

He heard the sound of a coin clatter in his case but ignored it, continuing with the song as he tried to see it through to the end without straying from the tune.  People didn’t want to hear new things.  They wanted to hear songs they recognized, songs that were catchy and they could easily sing along to.  Most people didn’t like the music he played either, preferring an uplifting tune to one that invoked feelings of sadness or anguish.  It made busking difficult, but he had to try, even if it only provided his family a few extra dollars each month for groceries.

His song came to an end and he kept his eyes closed for a moment as he breathed in and out a few times.  Ori clapped avidly at his side, and Kíli chuckled at him, finally lowering the violin to his lap.  He studied the horsehairs on his bow, wondering how much longer he would be able to play without replacing them, and then loosened them slightly before setting everything back in the case.  There were a few dollars sitting in the lid, and he scooped them up into his pockets before sitting back in his chair. 

“Here, if you’re taking a break, put these on.  Your fingers will fall off if you’re not careful,” Ori spoke from his side, and Kíli laughed softly as his friend grabbed at his hands and slid the knitted mittens over his wrists.   The other boy even tugged his scarf up and checked the buttons on his jacket, and Kíli figured it might have been close to what it felt like to have a doting mother. 

“Thanks Ori,” he murmured through the thick wool covering his nose and mouth, and he let his mittens stretch out over his withered thighs.  He felt uneasy in this part of town, like he didn’t belong.  Dale was probably the nicest and largest district in Erebor, and also one of the few where the people could afford to leave him a tip.  He certainly got mixed reactions while he played, many of them unpleasant.  Most people looked at him in distaste, stopping only to sneer in his direction, as though he was tarnishing the smooth, well-kept sidewalks in their neighbourhood.  The children often pointed, directing questions towards their parents that went ignored as they rushed by without as much as a glance.  As per usual, it was the pity filled stares that bothered him most, judging eyes that wrote him off as a lost cause.

Kíli sneezed once and looked up, blinking as a harsh wind blew against his face.  Tall buildings lined the streets, housing wealthy businesses and condos for the rich.  The windows were stacked above one another, and he couldn’t imagine living in such a place, with so much room, and surrounded by so many expensive things.  In the distance he could see the cluster of buildings forming Oakenshield Industries, towering over the horizon line, and streets upon streets of mansion sized homes, covered in ornate woodworking and fancy brickwork.  There were cranes and construction workers building and expanding even further in the already well-developed part of Erebor.  Heels clacked against the pavement as people hurried from one place to another, and not even the flashing images on the television screens in the window across the way were enough to make them stray from their path. 

“I hate the cold,” Gimli grumbled, shifting against the wall to his left.  Kíli raised an eyebrow at him and sighed.  He’d told his friends they didn’t have to come along, but they always insisted, regardless of the weather.   Kíli was pretty sure Bilbo preferred it that way too.  His dad didn’t much like the idea of Kíli wandering the streets of Erebor alone.  He was capable enough, but Bilbo worried about him regardless.  There was always the chance he might get stuck somewhere, without any way to contact home.  He was a bit young to be left on his own as well, but he was used to it, since Bilbo was often still out on a delivery when he arrived home from school in the evening.  

Kíli shivered slightly, gritting his teeth at the small twinges in his spine.  They somehow always seemed to occur more frequently in the winter months.  It _was_ cold, but they’d all dealt with worse, and Ori’s knitted scarves and mitts helped immensely.  Gimli just liked to complain, but Kíli couldn’t blame him.  He was sure it helped his friend relax to some extent. 

Ori leaned forwards on his other side and peered over at the redhead, likely checking to see if he was properly bundled as well.  He was frowning worriedly, and his mitten covered hands reached up to grasp onto his scarf.   

“How’s your Mum doing?” Ori asked, his voice soft and unsure.  He looked genuinely concerned, and winced slightly at the frustrated expression that washed over Gimli’s face.

“She’s real sick,” the redhead muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.  Kíli’s eyes zeroed in on the television again, watching as a news program flashed on the screen.  

“She’s…hiding it, you know?  But…I can tell,” he whispered, leaving the three of them to dwell on his words.  Runa had only worsened the past few years, and common colds certainly did not last so long.  It was something more than that, whatever it was, and she would never get better without the proper medicines and care.

“They won’t even look at her in that Redwater Hospital, too crowded and they said it’s not serious enough,” Gimli hissed.

“But it is serious!” Ori shouted, his voice surprisingly loud, and he jolted back against the brick and flushed when the sound echoed down the street.  Kíli’s vision blurred as he stared straight ahead, unwilling to look at Gimli and see the pain in his eyes yet again.  Runa’s case was one of many in the inner core.  The new hospitals were great, for people that looked like they needed help, people that were easy to fix.  But if the illness wasn’t visible, or the person was not in immediate danger, they just weren’t worth the time.  Not with so many people waiting and lining up for free care.  He knew that better than anyone.

Kíli blinked and focused his eyes, watching the newscaster with sorrowful eyes.  She was interviewing an older woman, talking about a rare book she found on happenstance at a garage sale.  Kíli found it hard to believe that the story was the best material they could find, when people were suffering and dying, when the homeless shelters were still overrun with those fighting to survive.  According to the news, Erebor was thriving, but Kíli saw another side of the city each and every day, a side that often went ignored.  

A cluster of well-dressed children walked in front of him, breaking his line of sight, and Kíli narrowed his eyes when a few of them snickered at his chair.  He saw Gimli’s fists tighten as the redhead cracked his knuckles beside him.

“It’s not fair,” Gimli sneered, his eyes watching the kids skip along the sidewalk.  They were probably around the same age, but looked so much younger, so much more carefree.

“Those kids, they’ve got it so easy,” Gimli commented, and he bared his teeth slightly as he watched their backs move further away.

“Don’t know what it’s like to live a day without food,” he growled, and Kíli reached out and touched his friend’s arm, waiting for the tension in his shoulders to ease.  It was short-lived, as Gimli caught sight of the newscast and a familiar face broadcast on screen.  Thorin Oakenshield was smiling at the screen, his blond nephew at his side, clearly having just finished a soccer game.  The boy was sporting a fancy uniform blatantly sponsored by Oakenshield Industries.  His hair was tied back and he held up a medal smugly, while Thorin beamed and spoke to the audience about how proud he was.  Gimli reacted quickly, pushing away from the wall as he bent low to pick up a stray brick, and Kíli’s gaze whipped towards him and he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair fiercely. 

“Gimli what are you doing!?” Kíli cried, and he reached out but couldn’t reach his friend in time to grab hold.

“Ori stop him!” he hurriedly shouted, and the smaller boy rushed forwards, holding his arms around the redhead’s body.  His feet dragged across the cement beneath them as the older boy dragged him along by force.

“It’s his fault!” Gimli yelled.

“If it weren’t for his stupid family, and his stupid hospital turnin’ Ma away…,” he ranted, his fingers clenched tightly around the brick.  Ori held his arm back fiercely and pulled at his fingers, trying to loosen his grip.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Ori chastised, though his voice was as soft as ever. 

“Attacking a screen won’t do any good.  Would your Mum want you to break down a window?” he urged, trying to make his friend settle, but it wasn’t until a loud groan sounded from behind them both that Gimli actually turned and let the brick fall from his hand.

“Kíli?” Gimli whispered, and his eyes widened as he saw the brunet hunch forwards and grab at his back in anguish.

“Kíli are you okay?” he asked, hurrying to his friend’s side.  Ori was there right along with him, and the two boys studied the brunet avidly, ignoring the strange looks they attracted from passers-by.

“I-I’m fine,” Kíli stuttered, but it was obvious he was lying.  His face was sweating, and his eyes wouldn’t stay open, while his fingers struggled to grip his pants from inside the woollen mittens. 

“Do you need a shot?” Ori pressed, and when he received no response, he hurried to open the small box that held Kíli’s syringes before going through the process of injecting it.  His hands were steady as Gimli watched over him, and within moments he was finished and packing everything away.  What was once scary to him now came with ease.  Ori had administered morphine to Kíli more times than he could count, and he was glad he was able to help when his friend needed it. 

“He’s going to need more soon,” Ori commented, latching the box back onto the wheelchair.  He knew it wasn’t easy to come by, but it seemed like his friend was going through more and more morphine as time passed.  Gimli wiped at Kíli’s brow and supported his head as the brunet began to slump in his seat.  Morphine always made him weary, and his eyes were glazing over slightly under the influence of the pain medication. 

“Let’s get him home,” Gimli suggested, and he moved to push the wheelchair towards the nearest bus stop, while Ori carried the violin case and followed along at his side.

* * *

The vials clinked slightly as Ori rifled through them hurriedly.  His feet were balancing on one of the lower shelves as he held himself up to peer over the highest.  He often explored the hallways at the lab while Dori was busy with his work.  No one seemed to mind, and his presence in the building had become expected by the other employees, to the point where he was able to get away with things he probably shouldn’t.  Like sneaking into the storage cabinets to pick through the medicines on the shelves.

Kíli was in desperate need of some morphine, and it was the only thing Ori could think of.  There was plenty in storage, he’d seen it before, and surely no one would notice if he swiped a bottle or two of the liquid.  He nibbled at his lip and swallowed nervously, his fingers sliding over the glass bottles as his palms began to sweat.  Normally he would never think of stealing, not in a million years.  He knew it was wrong, and Dori would have certainly killed him if he ever found out.

But it was for Kíli, and Ori would do anything for Kíli.

Ori held his breath as he pushed aside some bottles and finally spotted the one he was looking for.  He reached out, grabbing the glass, and as his fingers grasped it he staggered, shaking the shelves slightly as he fell back to the floor.  Several of the vials jiggled, and Ori thought for sure they might fall and smash across the floor, but soon enough they settled back in place.  He heaved a deep sigh of relief, and turned around pushing the door to the storage room out.  He was too busy reading the label to notice the figure standing just outside, and he walked straight into someone’s legs.  Ori gasped as he looked up into the brooding eyes of Thorin Oakenshield, the morphine still clasped between his tiny fingers.  The man startled and looked towards him in surprise, reaching out to halt Ori’s path. 

“You’re Dori’s little brother aren’t you?  You’ve grown quite a bit since I last saw you.  What are you doing in the storage room?” the man commented, his gaze quickly flicking towards the glass bottle in Ori’s hands.  Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the medicinal label, and he bent low to look directly into the scruffy boy’s eyes probingly.  Ori felt dread fill his entire form and he started blurting out apologies before the man had time to question him.

“I…I’ll put it back, I-I’m sorry!” Ori stuttered anxiously, having realised he was caught red handed in the middle of thieving.

“You shouldn’t be stealing.  Is this for your brother?” Thorin asked, his voice much more threatening than when they’d first met.  Ori felt his throat tighten, and he trembled in place, his head quickly shaking back and forth.

“No!” Ori shouted in a rush.  His voice must have startled the other man, for he flinched away, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“He doesn’t know about it at all! I swear it!” Ori insisted, desperately hoping his brother would not suffer for his mistake.

“I-it’s…for my friend.  He’s not well, and he can’t afford to get more,” Ori explained, his eyes lowering towards his hands.  Thorin seemed confused, and the man reached out, gently grabbing the bottle so he could read the label more thoroughly.

“Where do you live Ori?” Thorin asked, his voice softer again, and the boy shifted back and forth on his feet, still dreading just how much trouble he was going to be in.

“The centre core, in Buckland,” he whispered, his fingers toying with the fraying edges of his sleeves.  The other man stared at him for a while in silence, and Ori glanced to the right as someone pushed a cart down a nearby hallway, the wheels screeching as they rolled across the linoleum tiles.  The dark haired man looked closely at Ori’s clothing and shoes, studying his ragged appearance, and then he held his hand out towards the boy, reoffering the bottle of morphine.

“Our little secret okay?” Thorin droned, and Ori’s fingers clasped the bottle tightly as he studied the man with owlish eyes.   

“If you need more for him…ask me next time.  I don’t want you getting into trouble,” Thorin mentioned, and he moved to stand.  Ori nodded and said a quick goodbye before he carefully tucked the bottle away in his pocket.  He watched the man’s back disappear down the hallway, unsure what to think of the business man.  The television said one thing, the people around him another, but Ori could not help but think that Thorin Oakenshield actually did care, perhaps really did want to help the people of Erebor to some extent.  Otherwise, he never would have given him something for free.

Ori gulped as he thanked whatever stars were watching over him, and he hurried back to Dori’s lab with a skip in his step, hyperaware of the added weight in his pocket.  The following day Ori would add the bottle to Kíli’s stores without anyone noticing, and hopefully it would help get him through the last stretch of winter.  Kíli’s legs may not have been fixable, but it lightened Ori’s heart knowing that he could do even one small thing to help his friend.

**Author's Note:**

> "Sore must be the storm" is a line from a poem by Emily Dickinson.


End file.
